Hush

2

LAKE KICKED OFF the sheet and tore down the hall to the foyer. Her purse was on the hall table and she upended it, spilling the contents. She pawed through the clutter until she found her BlackBerry and scrolled to the camp’s emergency number. Five rings, then a deep hello. It was the gravelly voice of Mr. Morrison, the director.

“This is Will Warren’s mother,” Lake said quickly. “He’s in cabin seven-um no, five, cabin five. Did someone just call me?”

“What?” he asked groggily, clearly not comprehending.

Lake explained the situation, trying to keep her voice even.

“No, it wasn’t me,” he said. “But let me go down to his cabin right away. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”

Pacing the hallway, Lake tried to convince herself that nothing was wrong-the camp director would have known-but as the minutes passed without a call, her alarm ballooned. Had Will been abducted? Did this have something to do with Jack?

Fifteen minutes later, her BlackBerry finally rang.

“There’s absolutely no reason for concern,” the director said. “Will is fast asleep, and the counselor says he’s been fine all night. Sounds like it must have been a wrong number.”

It had to be, she thought. For one thing, Will’s name was just Will, not William and someone really familiar with him wouldn’t make the mistake. And why would anyone she knew call at this hour? Her mind flew back to Jack. Had he orchestrated it, because of his custody fight? But what would he gain from a stunt like that? After crawling back into bed, it took her over an hour to fall asleep again.

The next morning she woke feeling hungover from worry-about the phone call, about her conversation with Hotchkiss. She’d felt so giddy yesterday as she’d dashed toward lunch, and she wondered now when she’d ever summon that feeling again. It was almost a relief to be on the Eighty-sixth Street crosstown bus an hour later, headed to the offices of her new client on Park Avenue, the Advanced Fertility Center.

Her plan today was to finish up her background research about the practice. She’d been recommended for the job by Dr. Steve Salman, an associate at the clinic whose sister, Sonia, had been a friend of Lake’s in college. Private fertility clinics, compared to those affiliated with hospitals and universities, had a bit of a stigma attached to them. The perception sometimes was that making money took precedence over making babies. Lake had been hired to help the clinic overcome that hurdle and to stand out among the burgeoning number of competitors.

It was a challenge she relished. The trick in marketing was to find the unique aspect of a product or company-the unique selling position-and optimize it. To Lake it was like studying a drawing with a hidden object and then, with a thrill, finding it. Like most fertility clinics, this one focused heavily on in vitro fertilization (IVF), the process by which a woman’s eggs are removed from the ovaries, and then, after being fertilized by sperm in a petri dish or test tube, are transferred to her uterus or frozen for future use. The clinic had been particularly successful with women over forty. Lake needed to find ways to play that fact up without turning off younger patients. In a week and a half she would present her first round of ideas to the two partners.

As much as she enjoyed her work so far at the clinic, she always felt a moment’s hesitation when she first walked through the door. The reception area had been nicely decorated with minty green walls and plush carpeting, but to Lake the room seemed so melancholy. Though the women who sat there-some with husbands and partners, some without-hardly looked morose, Lake could sense how sad and tortured they felt underneath.

In a small way, she could relate to their anguish. Though she’d never grappled with infertility, her birthmark had created a deep sense of despair and hopelessness in her, starting in childhood. By eleven she’d become an egghead in school, caught up in endless art and history projects and pretending nothing else mattered, when all she really wanted was to be normal, to be pretty, to never again have to see that double beat of surprise and pity in people’s eyes. A doctor had saved her with his laser. She knew it didn’t take a psychiatrist to see why she found herself drawn to clients in the health field.

For the past two and a half weeks she had worked in the small conference room at the very back of the clinic office. Today, as usual, she made her way there through the crazy warren of short corridors-past the doctors’ private offices, the nurses’ station, the hushed exam rooms, the futuristic-looking embryology lab, with its sliding window to the OR, where the egg and embryo transfers were done. As she was getting started, spreading open a folder on the conference room table, one of the nurses, a dark-haired Irish girl named Maggie, passed by the open door and smiled hello. About fifteen people worked at the clinic, and Maggie had been one of the warmest to her. Along with Dr. Harry Kline, the consulting psychologist.

Alone in the conference room, Lake read through the last articles in the batch she’d collected as soon as she was hired for the job. She’d been consuming anything that had to do with the clinic: journal articles the doctors had written, press stories that featured the practice. It was often in these kinds of materials that she found nuggets that she could begin to work with and leverage as part of a marketing plan.

While she worked, she tried to keep yesterday’s meeting with Hotchkiss out of her mind, but it wouldn’t leave her alone. The strange phone call from last night also gnawed at her. Before she’d gotten very far with her reading, she called the camp director again. He’d checked on Will that morning, he said, and everything was fine.

About an hour later, Rory, the clinical medical assistant, poked her blond head in the door. She was about thirty, tall and pretty in an athletic way, the kind of girl who looked like she’d led her high school basketball team into the state tournament. And she was five months pregnant, which Lake realized must be tough for some of the patients to see. Rory’s blue eyes were rimmed with black liner today and her blond hair was scooped up on her head in a loose bun.

“Brie hasn’t been by here, has she?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t seen her,” Lake said. Brie, the no-nonsense, tightly wound office manager, normally ignored her. Lake assumed it was because until Lake’s arrival, Brie had handled any so-called marketing for the clinic.

“Dr. Levin wanted her to give you a bio.”

“I think I’ve got everybody’s,” Lake said, glancing down at one of the folders.

“Dr. Keaton’s?”

“But he’s just a consultant, right? Why-”

“He’s decided to join the group,” Rory said, smiling. “He’s leaving his West Coast practice and coming in with us.”

“Oh, um-okay,” Lake said. To her surprise, the news flustered her.

“Is something the matter, Lake?”

“No, I just hadn’t heard the news yet.”

“Oh well, Brie should have mentioned it to you. You should be kept in the loop about these things.”

“Not a problem,” Lake said. She appreciated that Rory seemed to have picked up on Brie’s passive-aggressive streak.

Rory turned to go. Lake wondered if she should try to engage her in some kind of small talk, but it often seemed that Rory preferred to focus on the next thing on her list.

“You look very nice today, by the way,” Lake said. “Do you have a special night planned?”

“My husband’s traveling this week,” she said, smiling ruefully. “But I try to make an effort anyway. I think it’s so important not to let yourself go just because you have kids in your life. I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but you’re such a perfect role model. When I’m your age I hope I look as good as you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Lake said, a little taken aback.

She chose to take Rory’s comment as a compliment and got back to work. At close to eleven she realized it was time for her scheduled interview with Dr. Sherman, one of the clinic’s two partners, about some of the more advanced aspects of in vitro fertilization. She had done a number of these sessions with the doctors just to familiarize herself with their work. As she picked up her pad and got ready to head down the hall, Keaton himself appeared in the doorway. She felt her pulse kick up a notch. He was wearing perfectly draped navy pants, a crisp lavender shirt and a lavender-and-purple print tie. He looked great-and she was sure he knew it.

“Have they still got you locked down back here?” he said, grinning. “That seems awfully cruel on a gorgeous day like today.”

“It’s not so bad,” she said. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Oh, right. Thanks. I just made the decision last night, in fact.

“And actually,” he added, stepping into the conference room and locking his slate-blue eyes with hers, “you’re actually part of the reason I accepted.”

She felt flustered by this unexpected statement. Unsure of what he meant, she just cocked her head and smiled.

“Oh, is that right?” she said.

“Yup. This is a great practice, but it only gets a C-plus in marketing. Hiring you was a very smart decision.”

“Thanks,” she said, annoyed at how instantly deflated she felt. How ridiculous, she thought. Had I really thought he was going to announce that he came on board because I’d tantalized the hell out of him?

“It doesn’t seem fair,” she added, all business again, “but even a practice that should win on merit has to play the game and do its best to stand out.”

He stepped even closer and slid his butt onto the conference table. His tall, lean body was just inches from her now, invading her space a little. She could smell his musky cologne. She could also see a small, jagged scar above his left eye, a vestige perhaps of having been whacked hard with something like a hockey stick.

“You don’t strike me as someone who tolerates a lot of game playing,” he said slyly. Lake was sure he was talking on two levels now, and she didn’t know how to handle it.

“Well, sometimes in business it’s unavoidable,” she said, thinking she should change the subject. “Will you, um, miss L.A.?”

“A bit. But I trained at Cornell and I’ve been anxious to get back to New York ever since.” He tucked both hands in his back pants pockets, and as he did, his shirt strained against the muscles of his chest. “You know, all the great things about this city-rude waiters, packed subways…the smell of wet wool in the winter time.”

“Maybe I should suggest that idea to one of my beauty clients as a fragrance launch,” Lake said. “Manhattan Wet Wool.” God, that was lame, she thought, but he laughed, his eyes not leaving her face.

“Perfect,” he said. “But yes, I’ll miss L.A. a little. The weather, mostly. I should tell you that the practice I’m leaving is actually pretty good at marketing.”

“What kinds of things do they do?”

“Community events, glossy takeaways, interactive website.”

“I’d love to hear more about it.”

“When?” he asked, a little smile at the corner of his mouth. He held her eyes hard now. So this was eye sex, she thought.

“You tell me,” she said. Would he suggest coffee? she wondered. No, he was the kind of guy who went straight for drinks, no pussyfooting around.

But as he started to answer, Brie barged in, the ubiquitous clipboard on her arm.

“Dr. Sherman is expecting you, Lake,” she said curtly. Her thin mouth was like a slash today, painted a shade too red for her short auburn hair.

“Okay-I’ll be right there.”

Lake hesitated, waiting for Brie to leave but she didn’t budge. Then Keaton rose from the table.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he said to Lake, smiling. Lake could almost read to be continued in his eyes.

She ended up waiting ten minutes outside Sherman’s closed-door office, and she suspected that Brie had purposely rushed her. When the door finally opened, a young couple emerged. The husband looked stricken, ashamed almost, and Lake wondered if they’d just been told their infertility issue rested with him.

Sherman was in his early sixties, and he was blunt-spoken and humorless. He had yellowed gray hair, a bulbous nose, and pale, almost translucent skin. As he rambled on imperiously, Lake took notes, trying to concentrate, but her thoughts kept being tugged away. To the meeting with Hotchkiss. And then, against her will, to Keaton. Where was she headed with this thing? she wondered. Would she really go for a drink with him?

There were all kinds of reasons why she should turn and run the other way, not least of which was the warning from Hotchkiss. Well, she didn’t really have to think about locking herself up until the kids came home from camp, right? In the meantime, couldn’t she enjoy the dance? Even if Keaton was one of those love-’em-and-leave-’em types-as she had no doubt he was.

“The most viable embryos survive to the fifth day of incubation,” she heard Sherman say, and she made an attempt to refocus. “That’s what we call the blastocyst stage. A blastocyst transfer allows us to place only one or two of the most viable embryos into the uterus. That not only improves embryo selection but it reduces the chances of multiple births. No decent doctor wants to be responsible for an ‘octomom’ situation. Any questions?”

“Uh, I think I’m set for now,” Lake said. “I’m pretty familiar with all these procedures from the background materials you provided.”

Sherman seemed as happy to end the meeting as Lake was. It was clear they weren’t going to be the best of friends, but no matter-that wouldn’t get in the way of Lake doing her job.

On her way back to the conference room, Lake casually looked for Keaton but didn’t find him. The door to Harry Kline’s office was open, though, and she peered in to say hello. She’d enjoyed the few conversations she’d had with him-he had that shrink way of seeming intrigued by every word that came out of your mouth. But he wasn’t in his office.

“I heard he left early,” one of the older nurses, Emily, said quietly behind her. “Some sort of personal emergency.”

Lake returned to her articles in the conference room and after an hour more of reading and note taking was ready to call it quits. As she walked to the storage room to return the reading materials to the files, she kept an eye out for Keaton. There was still no sign of him. Retracing her steps, she spotted Steve in the doorway of the small conference room, obviously looking for her. It was amazing how much he resembled his sister, Sonia. They were half Belgian, half Pakistani, and both extremely attractive.

“There you are,” he said. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” she said. “I’m really enjoying the project, Steve.”

“I knew you were the perfect choice. By the way, we’re having a dinner tonight in honor of Mark Keaton. How about joining us?”

“Thanks, but I should make it an early night,” she said. It’d been a knee-jerk response, and part of her instantly regretted it.

“We hardly plan to push on till dawn,” he said. “Come on-it’ll be fun. Besides, Dr. Keaton wanted me to ask you.”

She shrugged, trying to seem indifferent to his comment.

“Okay, why not,” she said, smiling. “I appreciate the invitation.”

They were going to Balthazar, he said. In SoHo. Eight o’clock.

As she walked up Park Avenue ten minutes later, Lake couldn’t contain her excitement. In her mind she imagined sitting next to Keaton tonight, feeling those eyes trained on her again. After this miserable year, I deserve a night like this, she told herself. For a moment, Hotchkiss’s warning flashed in her mind. But wasn’t this exactly what the man had suggested? Socializing in groups? Plus, the kids were still away. No harm to be done.

Back home she fixed a late lunch, faxed the kids, and, because her part-time assistant was off on her honeymoon, took care of paperwork. At close to seven, she began rummaging for an outfit. She tried on and discarded black pants and a crisp white shirt; a flowy skirt and blouse; the same blouse with a denim pencil skirt.

Finally, her bed strewn with clothes, she chose a coral sundress, burnished gold sandals, and gold hoop earrings. The dress was striking with her long brown hair and showed off a little cleavage. She felt slightly wicked-like she was sixteen and had just shoplifted a lipstick from the drugstore. Before leaving, she grabbed a lightweight trench, not sure what the weather would be later on.

All the way down the West Side Highway, as the taxi’s AC hummed like white noise, she replayed the scene with Keaton in the conference room, his body just inches away from her. Was he just being his flirty self or did he want to take things further? Did she want to take things further? The thought of what further meant made her blush.

As the cab exited at Canal Street, she remembered Hotchkiss’s other warning-about being followed-and glanced out the back window. There were no cars behind her cab. She half-laughed at her paranoia.

She was the last of the group to arrive at Balthazar. The only seat left was at the foot of the table-next to Steve and across from Dr. Thomas Levin, the clinic’s other partner. Keaton was at the opposite end, next to Steve’s wife, Hilary. In between were Sherman; Dr. Catherine Hoss, the clinic’s senior embryologist; Hoss’s date; Matt Perkins, a doctor who’d recently joined the practice; Perkins’s preppy-looking wife; and Levin’s blond, Botoxed trophy bride, her arms lined with jeweled bangles. Keaton politely nodded his head in greeting, and that was it. In the cavernous French bistro with its whirring overhead fans, she couldn’t even hear the conversation at his end of the table.

Lake pulled in a breath, trying to squelch her irritation. She’d imagined sitting next to Keaton, talking to him, maybe even accidentally feeling his leg against hers under the table. But it wasn’t going to happen. Suddenly she had little interest in conversation with a bunch of people she barely knew. Why had she bothered to come?

But Levin soon made it easy for her. In the office he’d seemed arrogant and at times brusque, but tonight he let her see his suave, charming side. He was about the same age as Sherman and yet handsome, dashing almost-with thick gray hair, a hawklike nose, and unruly eyebrows that added a bohemian touch to the polished image. He wanted to know what had brought her to New York, where she had learned the best lessons about marketing, and what she thought really gave people an edge in business today. All the while he listened intently. Eventually Steve and Dr. Hoss’s boorish date joined in. As they swapped stories, Lake let herself relax against the red banquette, luxuriating in the taste of the great Bordeaux and the breeze from the overhead fan on her bare shoulders. At one point all three men seemed to be hanging on her every word. It had been ages since she’d enjoyed that kind of experience.

As the appetizers were being served, she glanced slyly down to Keaton’s end of the table, thinking she’d catch his eye. But she didn’t. A few minutes later she tried again-with no luck this time either. She hated how disappointed she felt. Had he just been toying with her earlier? But then why suggest to Steve she join the group tonight? As she ate, she saw that Hilary had turned all her attention Keaton’s way, cocking her head back and forth like a titmouse at a bird feeder.

After the main course, a few people asked for coffee. Lake let her eyes stray to Keaton’s end of the table again. This time, to her shock, he looked directly at her. He pulled his body back in his seat and held her eyes. Desire flooded through every inch of her.

Now what? she wondered. She pretended to fumble in her purse for something but she was just trying to think. Finally she turned to Levin.

“Excuse me,” she said to him. “I need to sneak to the ladies’ room.” It was insane, she knew, but she longed for Keaton to follow.

To her complete annoyance, Catherine Hoss got up, too. Just perfect, Lake thought. But rather than head for the restroom, Hoss stepped outside the restaurant. Through the paneled windows Lake saw her pull a cell phone from her purse. Lake was struck by how attractive Hoss was out of her lab coat and with her black hair loose around her shoulders rather than pinned tightly in her usual French twist.

After edging past the restaurant’s zinc bar, Lake descended the stairs to a dimly lit lounge. She entered the ladies’ room and patted fresh foundation over the faint trace of her birthmark. In the mirror she saw that her cheeks were deep pink, as if she’d spent the night huddled over a bonfire. She felt almost woozy with excitement from Keaton’s last look.

As she tugged open the door, her mind pleaded-please let him be there. And he was. He stood in the lounge, glancing at the screen of his phone. As she emerged he looked up and smiled-as if this were just a chance meeting. God, she thought, the guy had all the moves down.

“So, how were things at your end?” he asked. “You had the pleasure of sitting next to Dr. Thomas Levin, fertility rock star.”

There was an odd edge to his words.

“He’s an interesting guy,” Lake said. “Was he the main reason you chose this practice-because of his reputation?”

“Good question. But one that may be moot at this point.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s been a little snag in the plan. This may not be the best place for me after all.”

“Wait-you’re not joining the clinic?” Lake asked, completely taken aback.

“You sound sorry,” Keaton said, his voice teasing.

“Well, I’m sorry if you’re in any kind of a difficult situation.”

“You know what would take the sting out?” he said with a smile. She knew what was coming.

“What?” she asked quietly.

“Having a drink later with you. Without all the other revelers.”

“I’d like that,” she said. Her boldness surprised her.

“Why don’t you come to my place,” he said. “It’s just around the corner-at 78 Crosby. I’ll leave first and you can head over after.”

A drink at his place. She could no longer have any doubts about where this was going. Her heart pounded as she thought about being with him and what it would be like to completely let go. If she didn’t take advantage of this moment, who knew when she’d be able to risk something like this again. Once the kids were back home, she would have to play the nun as Hotchkiss had advised.

“All right,” she replied, “sounds good.”

He smiled again and slipped into the men’s room without a word.

“So, Jack, how’s that for spontaneity?” Lake thought as she started up the stairs.