Perfect People

14

Ten weeks later, in his seventh-floor office at the Cedars-Sinai hospital, the obstetrician was distracted. He was talking to Naomi but his mind was altogether somewhere else. Dressed in white scrubs and plimsolls that reminded Naomi of Dettore on the ship, Dr Rosengarten was a small, slender, camp man in his late forties, with a nasal voice, wispy bleached hair and a tan with a slightly yellowish hue that made Naomi suspect it came from a tube rather than the Southern Californian sunshine.

She did not dislike him, but equally, he was too aloof for her to warm to. And she found the ornately varnished and gilded Louis XIV furniture, the tasselled drapes and the displays of jade and onyx objets d’art slightly absurd in such a modern setting as this building. It felt more like a boudoir than a consulting room – which was exactly the effect Dr Rosengarten intended, she presumed. No doubt its faux-grandeur impressed some of his clientele.

To her surprise, after all the meticulous care and planning on the ship, Dr Dettore had not offered any kind of immediate follow-up. There was just his ‘Post-Conception Guidelines’ booklet, a suggested reading list of books and websites about the unborn foetus, covering a range of topics from nutrition to spiritual welfare, and a regime of vitamin and mineral supplements. It seemed that once they had climbed out of his helicopter at LaGuardia airport they were out of his care – and out of his life. All he had requested was notification when Luke was born, for his records, and a further consultation to be arranged when Luke was three years old.

She wondered if Dettore’s lack of interest was a reflection on how little of his package they had selected. Although he had kept up his charm towards them, she had sensed a hint of coolness and impatience creeping in towards the end.

It did surprise her that there was no obstetrician or paediatrician in Los Angeles whom he particularly recommended, and that he had simply told them to be guided by their own doctor. For the money they had spent, Naomi thought, she had been expecting some kind of well-planned after-care.

Their own doctor had suggested the same obstetrician, in Santa Monica, who had delivered Halley. But her best friend in LA, Lori Shapiro, had rejected him outright, and not because of the associations with Halley. Lori was married to a fabulously rich radiologist, Irwin, who knew all the medics in the area. Dr Rosengarten was the man to see. She’d had all three of her kids delivered by Dr Rosengarten, and both Irwin and Lori assured her and John that he was the best in the city – reeling off the names of all the A-list celebrities whose babies he had brought into the world.

Naomi and John had been pleased to go somewhere else. They were relieved at severing this tie with Halley and their past. And looking at the plush surroundings, John was grateful that one perk of being employed by the university was membership of their excellent professorial health insurance scheme.

Rosengarten’s secretary opened the door, a willowy blonde Californian beauty, underweight and as friendly as ice, who mouthed something to the doctor.

‘You’ll have to forgive me,’ he said. ‘One of my clients is in labour three weeks early.’ He raised a finger to his lips. ‘She’s like – I can’t tell you her name, obviously, you’ll read about in the papers tomorrow. Be right back!’ He gave them a patronizing smile, and disappeared out of the door for the third time.

John felt like punching his lights out. Naomi lay on the examination bench in her open gown, a pool of gel on her abdomen, while his nurse explained, ‘Dr Rosengarten is under a lot of pressure today.’

‘Great,’ said John, taking Naomi’s hand, and staring at the swirly grey-and-white images on the monitor. ‘Tell him how sorry I feel for him.’

The nurse, who appeared to have a sense of humour bypass said, ‘Yes, I will tell him.’

After several long minutes the obstetrician returned. ‘OK, right, now, I can confirm viability, Mrs Klaesson and – ah – Dr Klaesson. Everything looks normal, it’s twelve weeks and the foetus is healthy, and the results of the nuchal thickness scan are good.’ Dr Rosengarten let them absorb this for a moment then added, ‘Would you like to know the sex?’

Naomi glanced at John, who gave her a conspiratorial grin. She smiled thinly back and looked away. She was feeling lousy, very queasy, as she had been for weeks, and had thrown up just before coming here. Taking her handkerchief out, she dabbed spittle from her lips; her mouth was constantly filling with it.

Through the double-glazing came the blattering, grinding howl of a drill down in the street, seven storeys below. She could see the grey concrete wall of the Beverly Center close by, through the pall of dust rising up from the roadworks, and made a mental note to go there at the weekend, to see if she could find some new bras and some looser outfits while the summer sale was on. She hadn’t started gaining weight yet – although her breasts had got bigger, and incredibly painful – but from her memory with Halley, weight gain would start happening in another month or so.

John squeezed her hand. She looked again at the tiny silhouette on the fuzzy, swirly grey-and-white image on the monitor screen. She could see the arms, the legs and, when Dr Rosengarten indicated, she could even make out a foot.

‘I didn’t think you could tell the sex until at least sixteen weeks,’ she said.

Rosengarten sounded pained. ‘With our equipment, twelve weeks is fine.’ He crossed his arms truculently, like a defiant child, and looked at his Oriental Barbie nurse. ‘Text books,’ he said dismissively. ‘You probably read that nonsense about sixteen weeks in a text book. All text books are garbage, aren’t they?’

The nurse nodded in agreement.

‘If you’ve got questions, ask me,’ Rosengarten said. ‘Don’t waste your time reading trashy text books.’

Naomi looked back at John. Despite everything, she was suddenly nervous as hell. John squeezed her hand again, just a tiny, gentle pressure. Like a pulse.

It was a strange feeling being pregnant again. There were moments in between the bouts of queasiness when she felt happy, but awed by a tremendous weight of responsibility. She knew that John was expecting a lot from Luke; she was, too.

Staring at the screen, she asked, ‘Could I listen to the heartbeat again?’

‘You may, certainly.’ Dr Rosengarten placed the scanner on the gel he had smeared on her abdomen and moved it around until it picked up the sound, and Naomi lay still for some moments, entranced by the reassuring, rapid pop-pop-pop-pop bleeping. After a few moments, he glanced at his watch, removed the scanner, then said, ‘OK, Mrs Klaesson, you can stand up now.’

The nurse stepped forward and wiped her.

As she stood up she felt a sudden feeling of panic.

What have we done? What if it has all gone wrong?

‘The baby is normal?’ she asked.

His bloody secretary was standing in the doorway yet again, signalling to him. He raised a finger in acknowledgement, then distractedly turned back to Naomi.

‘Absolutely.’

‘You’re really sure?’

‘In as much as we can tell at this stage, fit and healthy. You don’t need to be worried. This severe sickness – this hyperemesis gravidarum – will pass soon. Just chill out, relax, enjoy your pregnancy – it’s a great and wonderful time for you.’

The baby is healthy! she was thinking. My baby is fine, moving inside me. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting off another wave of sickness. I’m going to be a great mum to you, and John’s going to be a great dad, I promise you. We’re going to try really hard to give you a great life, to make the most of all the advantages Dr Dettore has given you. You’re special, you know that? Just incredibly special. You’re the most special baby in the world.

‘So,’ John said, ‘you didn’t tell us.’

Dr Rosengarten flipped a glance at his watch. The session had clearly timed out. There was a hint of impatience in his voice, suddenly. ‘Tell you what?’

‘The sex?’

‘You’re sure you want to know?’ He looked at them in turn.

‘Yes,’ Naomi said.

‘We do,’ John confirmed, smiling again at Naomi. ‘Absolutely.’

‘OK, good. Congratulations,’ Dr Rosengarten said. ‘You’re going to have a girl.’