Welcome to the World, Baby Girl!

On a Whim

New York City

1976

At her next session Dena did not mention that she had had a phone call from Gerry, and although Dr. Diggers was eager to ask about it, she couldn’t. She was caught in a hard place, between her patient and her friend. She was extremely fond of Gerry; they had been friends for years. They had first met when he was a student and she was still teaching in graduate school. One day in class she mentioned that she wished she could take part in the civil rights marches that were going on. Two days later, Gerry walked in and announced, “Dr. Diggers, you want to go to the march, and you are going to the march. We leave tomorrow. You may not be able to march, but you can sure as hell roll!” He and two of his friends borrowed a van and drove her all the way to Mississippi. They made a strange pair, this handsome, blue-eyed, blond boy pushing a black woman in a wheelchair, but it was an experience that neither of them would ever forget. Later, when the woman’s movement demonstration in New York had been announced, she had called him. “Are you up for another march?” He was and they had a ball, especially Gerry, who got patted on the behind by several very liberated women that day.

Gerry would always be a special person in her eyes and she hated to see him hurt, but there was not a thing she could do.

A week after his call, Dena came in from having drinks with a boring PR man who was trying to charm her into interviewing his client, and she looked up Gerry’s number and dialed. She left a message with his exchange. “So—you call and tell me you’re crazy about me and then I don’t hear from you?”

When Gerry came in later that night he called in for his messages. He had forced himself to go out; he had waited for her to call for days and had given up. When he heard Dena’s message he stood still in shock. At least she was still speaking to him; that was something. But what in the world did that message mean? He was a psychiatrist and even he didn’t know. But he was again hoping for the best.

As for Dena, she had called the way she usually did when it came to something personal; she had called on a whim and it didn’t mean anything, one way or the other.

On another impulse, Dena decided to have a few people over to her new apartment for a cocktail party on Sunday. Although she did not say so, it was her birthday, a day she would have forgotten if, as always, Norma and Macky and Aunt Elner had not sent her birthday cards.

She had invited Ira Wallace and his wife. She liked Mrs. Wallace; she was a lovely lady and must have seen something good in Ira, God knows what. She also invited her agent, Sandy, and his wife, and a few others, including Gerry O’Malley.

When Sunday came around, Gerry was a nervous wreck. He had changed ties five times and wished he had not gotten his hair cut by that stylist who had parted his hair on the wrong side. But Dena made him feel welcome and acted as if he had never called and made a fool out of himself, and he was grateful. He managed to get through the party without doing anything worse than crossing his legs and kicking a glass of Chardonnay off the coffee table. That was a miracle, considering.

Dena, on the other hand, looked at him several times when he didn’t know it and decided he was not a bad-looking guy. She needed somebody she could take places when she needed a date. Someone nice, not in the business. Maybe she would give him a try.