Authors' note: Our thanks to Michael Bledsoe for his
clever title, that inspired us to return to the Silver Lake Universe
of "Steele Livin' Large." For maximum
enjoyment of this story, please read it soon. Thanks also to our
beta reader, Lauryn.
Alyssa snapped her gum, and then reflexively looked up and down the hall to see if Mrs. Roberts, the head nurse for the maternity unit, had witnessed her indiscretion. How Alyssa had longed for this assignment, volunteering Saturday mornings here at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital, and getting to ogle all those new babies! This was such a happy place to be. Most of the time, her duties consisted of delivering flowers to rooms and helping beaming grandparents find the nursery. She tried to steer clear of the rooms where the women were in labor. Listening to their moans and groans did nothing to undermine Alyssa’s opinion that labor and delivery must be one long torture session. This morning, when she’d arrived at 8 AM, a screamer was in room 142. She’d stood outside the closed door for a moment, when it had suddenly been thrust open.
“Alyssa! Be a dear and run down to the closet for a fresh set of linens,” Alyssa’s favorite nurse, Emily, had said to her, before disappearing behind the door again.
She’d complied, running all the way, and returned to stand awkwardly outside the door. She didn’t really want to go in, but she wanted to be helpful. Maybe if she stood outside long enough, Emily would come back out. And just then the door did open, but in Emily’s place was a tall, drop-dead gorgeous guy with black hair and fantastic blue eyes, kinda old, in Alyssa’s opinion, but a hunk just the same.
“---just get the damn ice chips, will you?” the lady inside the room screeched.
“Straightaway, darling,” the dreamy guy had responded, over his shoulder. When he turned to find Alyssa, wide-eyed and staring at him, he’d winked conspiratorially before dashing off to fulfill his task.
Emily had looked up and, seeing Alyssa at the door, beckoned to her.
“Here, give me a hand, sweetie. Just slip this gown on over your clothes,” she’d said.
And so Alyssa crossed the threshold of the room, into territory she had thus far avoided like the plague. She slipped on the gauzy yellow coat and buttoned it, before washing her hands at the sink. The woman in the bed was sweating, her hair damp and messy. She was in the standard-issue hospital gown, all the while hooked up to the baby monitor, which was loudly thumping away.
“Where the hell is the damn doctor?” said the woman.
Emily used her most soothing voice. “She’ll be back to check you soon, dear. These first babies can be a bit. . . rough. But you’re already 8 centimeters, so it won’t be much longer.”
“Easy for you to say! First baby, and last one too.”
Emily laughed, and squeezed the woman’s arm briefly. The she and Alyssa wordlessly returned to their task: readying the tiny bassinette, which stood by the bed.
“Here you go, darling.” The hunk was back, and he was putting some ice chips into a styrofoam cup and handing it to his wife. She smiled weakly up at him but then a contraction must have started, because she dropped the cup, spilling the ice chips all over the bed. Her husband reached for her hand and held it in his. Emily dropped what she was doing and took up her station on the other side of the bed, while Alyssa stood there, transfixed.
“Remember your breathing, Mrs. Steele---“
“I can’t, I can’t do this anymore---“
“You can, you can do it, Laura. Look at me---“
“Come on, one-and-two-and---“
“Look at me, Laura. I love you, I love you---“
He said the words in a chant, and it took Alyssa’s breath away. The woman, Mrs. Steele, got a hold of herself again, and she started copying the short controlled puffs that Emily was doing. And just as quickly, it all stopped. One of the lines on the monitor, which had climbed all the way to the top of the scale, fell back to zero. Mrs. Steele’s ragged intake of air momentarily filled the room, but when she stopped, all that could be heard was the pounding of the baby’s heartbeat. Alyssa gasped with sudden knowledge: the baby, waiting to be born, the parents, struggling to deliver her into this world. No wonder she’d avoided this scenario before. The raw emotions in the room overwhelmed Alyssa, and she backed away from the people at the bed.
Emily, finally keenly aware that this wasn’t the most appropriate place for a 15-year-old candy striper, whispered her thanks to Alyssa and led her firmly to the door. The teenager stepped out into the hall and leaned back against the wall, flattening her hands against its coolness.
Later, at lunch in the cafeteria with her best friend, Cleo, Alyssa shook off her awe and enthusiastically ate her bag lunch from home. She didn’t even mind the corny “I love you” note her mom had slipped into the brown paper sack.
“Did you see that guy from 142? Mr. Steele? I know he’s a geezer, but is he hot or what?” Cleo gushed.
“Yeah, I saw him. I was in the room with him and his wife this morning when she was in labor.” Alyssa concentrated on her grapes, spitting the seeds into her palm.
“You’re kidding?! What was that like?”
“It was . . . nice. They held hands,” she said, inadequately. How could she explain to Cleo what had gone on in the room? She didn’t even know herself. The only thing it compared to was when she walked in on her parents one time, sitting closely together on the sofa, looking up startled when she came upon them.
“Held hands? Big deal! Was that it?”
“He . . . he looked at her, and he told her he loved her.”
Cleo reacted predictably. “That’s so lame!”
Later, when Alyssa was back upstairs on the maternity floor, she looked around for that couple, but the door to their room was firmly closed. And when she returned the following Saturday, the Steeles were long gone, launched into parenthood.
***
Laura flipped rapidly
through another magazine, her fourth in ten minutes. Her
vision registered nothing on the pages, but her hands needed something
to do.
She fought to control the cold mass of worry that had settled
in her stomach as she sat in the waiting room. She had been
in control of herself fairly well until Harry was escorted to
the procedure room and Laura was directed kindly but firmly to
a chair. Harry's brave smile and forced nonchalance had
not reassured her at all.
She was doing all right until a whiff of something medical drifted
into the waiting room. With it Laura was forced to relive
what she now referred to as the worst day of her life, when debilitating
chest pains had interrupted Harry's pursuit of a suspect and their
world had been turned on its ear.
Laura tried to distract herself by thinking about more pleasant
days. She called up memories of the day, eight months earlier,
when she and Olivia came home from the hospital, exhausted but
exhilarated by the miracle that had been accomplished. She
smiled at the pleasant sensations of the three of them in bed
- Laura holding Olivia as she nursed, and Harry holding them both.
But then her mind twisted around to that awful tenth day of Olivia's
life, when Laura's hormones peaked in a maelstrom of feelings
of inadequacy and incompetence, and Harry was torn deciding which
of the two crying females to hold first.
She made herself recall every detail of Olivia's baptism, as she
and Harry proudly presented the baby, dressed in the Holt
family christening gown, to Mr. Lonergan and subsequently to the
church. Olivia, totally oblivious to the significance of
the day, slept through the entire ceremony, wet fuzzy head and
all.
But then her minded twisted again to the simple math equation
that told her that Harry would be 65 when Olivia graduated from
high school. Worst-case scenarios began their evil dance
in Laura's head, and she chided herself for letting her imagination
run loose. Wasn't this a highly regarded group that Mike
had referred them to? Hadn't Dr. Winslow done this procedure
hundreds of times? Wasn't it necessary to show competence before
one's residency was complete?
Laura conceded to herself that it was only when Harry was at risk
that she got this anxious. But hadn't they willingly, often
willfully, placed themselves in harm's way on a client's behalf?
Laura sometimes thought they were like Hollywood stuntmen, who
purposefully crashed cars and set themselves on fire, but then
one night slipped in the tub and got laid up for six weeks with
a broken ankle. On the job, little thought was often given
before jumping into a potentially hazardous situation, until after
the adrenaline had worn off and the lunacy of the action had sunk
in. But in the realm of Laura and Remington Steele, and
not Remington Steele Investigations, the risk of Harry being harmed
caused Laura to hold her breath on more than one occasion.
Finding no other way to stop the static in her head, Laura decided
to pray. Not two minutes after she closed her eyes, voices
talking quietly in the hallway caused her to look up. Harry
walked slowly on the arm of the scrub nurse, glassy-eyed and a
little unsteady. She guided him to a waiting room chair
and walked over to Laura, who had jumped to her feet.
"Mrs. Steele? He did just fine. He'll be a little
out of it for a couple of hours." She handed Laura
a plastic tote bag with papers and a plastic cup. "Oh,
I forgot something."
She trotted to the procedure room and back. "This ice
bag is going to be his best friend for a couple of days."
She handed it to Laura and smiled. "He's very sweet.
Take good care of him, OK?"
Laura took everything from her and put it in the chair next to
Harry. Kneeling there, she took his hand and noticed the
band-aid over his IV site. "Hey," she said gently,
"you OK?"
Harry smiled weakly, knowing who he was looking at but not comprehending
much else.
Laura stood up. "I'll just take care of the rest of
this and then we'll go home." She leaned down and kissed
his forehead.
After dispensing with the financial necessities, she gathered
up all the instructions and helped Harry out of his chair.
They walked slowly out to the car and Laura guided him into the
front seat of the Volvo. She put the seat back and Harry
settled in with a small grunt. It distressed her to see
him so out-of-step, but he was already showing signs of coming
out from under the medications.
***
In the colossal struggle between Man and Baby, Baby had won. Again. The vanquished parent lay in the middle of the floor, on the unyielding pile carpet, contemplating a lifetime without sleep. Inches away was the object of his exhaustion. Cooing contentedly in her bouncy seat, tiny fists flailing, little feet kicking, she was oblivious to the effect she had wrought on the Steele household. In five short months, she had brought Laura and Harry to their knees.
Steele clutched his flag of surrender, a small white nappy used as a spit-up cloth. Of all the women in his life, this one proved to be the most intractable. Demanding. Imperious. Stubborn. But also beautiful. Awe-inspiring. Miraculous. Truly a gift from a benevolent God, in whose hands, the Steeles were convinced, a perfect creature had been molded. Perfect between the hours of 10 am and 5 pm, anyway. Invariably around dinnertime, the Steeles’ progeny took on characteristics that reminded Steele of Linda Blair in the Exorcist. Her head didn’t literally spin around, but the comparison was there nonetheless. Olivia (“de Haviland has nothing on her!” Steele had exclaimed after witnessing the everyday miracle of her birth) had turned her parents’ orderly lives upside down and inside out, and although Steele now craved sleep the way he had once craved a gourmet dinner or a fine wine, he wouldn’t trade his daughter for anything. In a matter of days she had made a place for herself in his heart, and he knew she’d always reside there.
A cacophony in the foyer roused Steele from his sleep-deprived musings on the profound impact of fatherhood. He opened one eye and then the second to observe his wife locked in armed combat with the pram, a monstrous device that had a mind of its own. His eyes trailed appreciatively down Laura’s body. Motherhood and breastfeeding had done for Laura what his culinary temptations never had. Her newly acquired voluptuous curves drove Steele to distraction. He found himself thinking all too often about the arch of her back, the cinch in her waist, her soft yielding hips, and the swell of those beautiful breasts. Just yesterday, in a meeting with a prospective client, he’d gradually tuned out the man’s droning words to allow his mind to linger over the ebb and flow of Laura’s yielding flesh. And then a minute later his chin hit his chest, as he caught forty winks. The never-to-be client had indignantly risen and stomped from the office; surprised at first, Mildred peeked her head in, then smiled and silently closed his office door.
Auntie Mildred had been a life-saver. She dropped off perfunctory casseroles to nourish the Steeles, food that Steele might have once disdained, but now welcomed eagerly. She babysat at the drop of a hat, wheeling Olivia to the nearby park for an afternoon of fresh air, so Steele and Laura could indulge themselves for an hour. She had even screened prospective nannies, winnowing the list of candidates down after thorough background checks.
With a sigh, Steele rolled over and staggered to his feet.
“Let me get that, Laura.” He took the torch from Laura and continued her valiant struggle. “Going somewhere?”
She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. “Thought I’d take the baby to the park for a bit. That’d give you a few minutes to yourself.” Laura smiled as her eyes met his. She knew her husband would be a wonderful father, if given the chance, but even she hadn’t anticipated just how wonderful. It was he who answered Olivia’s commanding cries in the night, who strapped her in her high chair and played airplane with her cereal spoon, who cleaned and powdered that formidable baby’s bottom, who drew Madam’s bath every night. If Laura had been searching for an equal partner in parenting, she couldn’t have found a better contender.
His skirmish with the carriage won, Steele stole a moment to take Laura in his arms and kiss her deeply, until Olivia signaled in no uncertain terms that she required an audience. The mood was broken, and Laura stepped back regretfully to retrieve Miss Steele.
***
A short stroll later, Laura and Olivia arrived at the park. Birds singing, flowers blooming, all in all a perfect day. The bumpy, lurching ride had rocked Olivia to sleep, so Laura found an unoccupied park bench from which to watch the world drift by. The park was crowded today, chock-full with a swarm of toddlers and their handlers. Nannies and mommies occupied most of the benches. Laura swept aside her nagging suspicion that she didn’t blend in well with either crowd.
“You can’t catch me!” “Mommy, she pushed me----“ “Oh yes I can!” “-----higher on the swing!” Laura closed her eyes and listened to the little voices, mingled as they were with soothing words from the grown-ups ringing the playground.
“This seat taken?”
Startled from her daydreams, Laura sat straight up and blinked at the questioner, a twenty-something brunette wearing an otherwise businesslike tweed blazer adorned with a blunt shoulder-display of strained peas. On her hip was a bald-headed baby, gender indeterminate, clutching a ring of plastic keys.
“No, not at all.” Laura paused, and then decided to plunge ahead with some small talk. Hadn’t her mother been hounding her to meet other moms, to even, God forbid, join something called a ‘mothers’ group?’ This woman had the look of a serious professional, who, like Laura, had taken a short leave of absence from the world of work to have a baby. “How old?”
“Huh? Oh, bubba here? He’s six months today.” Laura’s new friend blew back the hair from her eyes and glowed with a mother’s pride.
Emboldened, Laura asked, “Getting much sleep?”
“No, not really. But how long can that last?”
“Twenty years, give or take a few.” Laura shared a laugh and then extended her hand. “Laura Steele.”
“Hi. Penny Leach.” Penny shook Laura’s hand and sat down heavily on the bench. She patted her son’s back. “Well, you should know.”
“Know what?”
“How long before I get a good night’s sleep,” Penny said.
Momentarily confused, but warming to her new friend, Laura went on. “Are you working?”
“Three days a week for now, and believe me, the partners at my firm begrudge me every minute. I haven’t found full-time child care yet.” Penny turned to face Laura, and then waved her fingers at the sleeping Olivia. “But how lucky your daughter is. Or is it daughter-in-law?”
Laura knew that she wasn’t functioning at her highest level, but Penny was even more addled than she. Daughter-in-law? She glanced at Olivia, then back at Penny.
“I mean, here you are, at the park, giving her a break. Wish *my* mom didn’t live 3,000 miles away.”
Feeling the heat in her cheeks, Laura imagined herself scarlet-faced. She momentarily considered throttling Penny Leach, but decided that jail time wasn’t becoming to a mother. Hastily gathering her things, she jumped up.
“So nice meeting you, Penny. Good luck with Yul Brynner there.”
Her former friend, shocked by the unmotherly dig, just stared as Laura set a new land-speed record for the trip home.
***
Mildred Krebs set
the small stack of floppy disks on the corner of the desk.
"Here ya go, Micah, everything I could download on the Descoine
case."
The young man sitting there glanced up. "Thank you,
Miss Krebs," and bent his head to his work.
"Anything else I can get you while I'm up? There's
a fresh pot of coffee."
"Oh, no thanks." Micah preferred his caffeine
cold and carbonated.
"Well, give a holler if you need anything else."
Mildred turned to go and was almost through the door when he called
her back.
"Uh, Miss Krebs,
if you have a minute..."
Mildred saw the hesitant expression on Micah's face and smiled.
It hadn't taken long for her maternal instincts to extend to Remington
Steele Investigation's newest addition in the same way that it
had always been for the Steeles.
"Something on your mind?"
Micah played with his Palm Pilot stylus. He debated whether
it was any of his business to ask questions about his new employers,
but the natural curiosity that served him well as a private investigator
couldn't be checked. He knew that whatever he wanted to
know Mildred would tell him - she had taken him under her motherly
wing from day one and they had become fast friends. Mildred's
matter of fact attitude and efficiency reminded him a lot of the
grandmother who helped raise him, but he had never mentioned that
to her.
Micah screwed up his courage and hoped his question wouldn't go
over the wrong way. "Uh, Miss Krebs, please don't tell
them that I asked this, but, aren't the Steeles a little old to
be, hmmm, starting a family?"
Mildred laughed heartily. She was glad the two in question
were at a fundraising luncheon for Habitat for Humanity, or Mr.
Steele would be in here in an instant wanting someone to share
the joke.
"Believe me,
hon, you're not the first one who thought that," she said
when she stopped laughing. "It's what we all called
a happy accident."
"How could an accident be happy?"
"Well, they didn't want to start a family right away."
Mildred did not think it was necessary to tell this perceptive
young man about the long, rocky road that the Steeles' romance
had traveled. "But, when they were ready, nothing happened.
Month after month became year after year. The boss just
couldn't get pregnant."
Micah had never heard of such a thing. Where he grew up,
the girls couldn't seem to NOT get pregnant, at any age. With
a raised eyebrow, Mildred clued him in to the way things worked
on *this* side of town, and with professional women such as Mrs.
Steele.
"Eventually they started going to doctors for help. Tests,
and shots, and more tests. That was a really rough time."
Mildred recalled with a shudder the unbearable tension and anxiety
that built every month as Laura's cycle came and went without
a break. Mildred could almost calculate the day's approach as
the number and decibel level of the shouting matches spiked.
"When the last try, in vitro, didn't work, they gave up on
the conception Olympics." Micah chuckled at her terminology.
"They started talking adoption, and we even had some packets
ready to mail out, when, boom, totally out of the blue, she came
up pregnant."
"The happy accident?"
"And how.
You never saw such celebrating! I couldn't scrape the Chief
off the ceiling for days. I mean, Mrs. Steele was happy,
but Mr. Steele was ecstatic. He and Fred and I polished off a
bottle of Cuvee Louis Pommery in the middle of the day, after
Mrs. Steele had one little sip."
"I guess after Mr. Steele's heart problems, this was extra
special." Last week Mildred had given Micah the condensed
version of the health scare that had turned their lives upside
down last year.
"You said it. I think they thought it was just about
the luckiest day of their lives."
Micah was reminded about what he had considered the luckiest day
in his own life - the day a month before his Havenhurst graduation
when Mr. Steele had called and offered him an interview.
At first he thought it was some liberal guilt trip on their part
that inspired them to hire him and pick up all of his student
loans. But when the placement officer told him how long
and how thoroughly the Steeles had questioned her about him, he
realized that there was a lot more business consideration than
do-good sentimentality that propelled their decision.
Micah worked hard from the start to live up to their expectations.
Before long it became evident that Micah excelled at surveillance,
where his unremarkable appearance could blend in with his surroundings,
whether he posed as a waiter, janitor or utilities employee.
He had the patience for long stakeouts, and was always quick to
volunteer to reconnoiter less than pleasant neighborhoods where
nice white folks like the Steeles stick out like a sore thumb.
Despite the fact that Micah Simms and his employers had absolutely
nothing in common socially, economically or culturally, he realized
that he could not have found a better place to practice his craft.
He and Mrs. Steele found some common ground as Havenhurst grads,
even though she had been out for 20 years. Micah could see
that she kept a tight rein on business matters, despite the name
on the front doors of the suite. A brief conversation with
Mildred in the elevator one evening had made clear the concept
of "he's the boss but she's in charge."
Mr. Steele, on the other hand, could be counted on to make life
interesting every day. When the case was complete and no
clients were left to coddle, he was never above putting his feet
up on the desk and regaling any listener with stories.
He never failed to check in with Micah each morning, making small
talk about their respective evenings away from work. As
time passed Micah sensed that perhaps he and Mr. Steele had more
in common than he first thought, especially when Micah was quizzed
about his upbringing and young life in the streets of Inglewood.
At the sound of
the suite door opening, Mildred glanced over her shoulder.
"I'll bet that's your 1:30. Ready for your first skip
trace?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"OK!" She patted Micah's shoulder enthusiastically.
"Go get 'em, tiger!"
***
Mystified last evening when, in a rage, Laura had returned from the park with Olivia, Steele had nonetheless not questioned Laura about her foul mood. But when he found the note under his teacup in the morning, he wondered no longer. ‘Call Mike Gleason,’ it said. “Or I will.’
Once Steele was ensconced in his office, he fished Laura’s note from his pocket. Emphatically printed at the bottom was Gleason’s telephone number. Resolutely, he dialed. No harm in a bit of information gathering, eh?
As he waited on
hold, Harry thought back to the peaceful Olivia-less dinner he
and Laura had shared three weeks earlier. Just an hour spent
as Laura and Harry and not Mommy and Daddy had renewed him, until
Laura made the dinner table her platform for the carefully constructed
argument that followed. Her opening salvo caught him off-guard.
"Harry, do you realize that when Olivia graduates from high
school you may be contemplating retirement?"
He did the mental math. "I hadn't really thought about
it, but I can assure you I have no plans to stop working because
some government-mandated number pops up."
"I realize that, but now that we have someone else to watch
out for in this world besides each other, I can't help but think
about the possibility that one of us might have to go it alone
with Olivia."
Harry took her hand. "Laura, you know what I'm going
to say -"
"Let tomorrow take care of itself." She ran her
finger around the cup rim. "I can't think that way
anymore, Harry. Not with Olivia, at least. I don't
want to even think of a future without you, and even more so with
Olivia and without you. And if we had more children than
just Olivia. . . ."
"So you've obviously given this a lot of thought, Laura.
This isn't just hormones talking?"
"No, it's not hormones. And that's another part of
it. I think I'm getting too old for any more estrogen roller
coaster rides."
"But Laura," Steele started, then stopped, overwhelmed.
Gathering his thoughts, he tried again.
"We dedicated
years of our lives to having a child. And just when we'd given
up hope, just when we were sure it would never happen, it did.
What's the rush? I mean, why do we need to decide right now that
we don't want any more children?"
Laura stared at him. "Are you saying that we do?
You think we need an heir and a spare?"
"Of course not," he blustered. "But what
are you saying? Obviously this is leading somewhere.
Let's have it."
Laura took a deep breath. "I think we need to consider
a permanent solution."
The expression on
his face told her they were not on the same page. "A
permanent form of birth control," she clarified.
Harry swallowed hard. Having loved Laura for over 20 years,
he had learned a thing or two along the way. He was well
aware now where this was headed, but just to keep it interesting,
he asked, "What did you have in mind?"
"A vasectomy."
"Me?"
"Of course, you. As long as Olivia is nursing, I can't
take birth control pills. That puts the ball in your court. For
men, there are fewer possibilities of complications, and the recovery
time is shorter, compared to a tubal ligation." She finished
off her coffee. "And, it's very simple to verify that
it's working."
"Who's going to perform this scissors job?"
"I'm sure Mike Gleason can refer us to an excellent urologist."
"How delightful that you came to our decision so easily."
Harry made a half-hearted attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his
voice.
Laura thought to rise to the bait but instead decided to try another
tack. "Just remember what Jill Taylor said, Harry."
"Who?"
"You know, Home Improvement, 1991 to 1999, Carsey-Werner
Productions?"
"What did she say?"
Laura moved her hand to his thigh and slid slowly upward.
"Anytime, anywhere."
"I'm sorry to keep you holding, Dr. Gleason is still on another
call. Do you want to keep holding?"
Harry jumped at the interruption. "Yes, please, I'm
not in any hurry." As the muzak returned, he turned
on the phone's speaker and got up to go to the window.
Hands thrust deep in his pockets, Harry assumed his most contemplative
position as he turned over the pros and cons in his mind.
For so long no thought had ever been given to birth control, as
the struggle to conceive went on for years. Now, in Laura's mind
at least, it was a new necessity. While deep in his heart
Harry was disappointed that the large family he had once envisioned
was not going to be so, the one child they had brought into the
world brought unlimited joy to their lives. And even if
the unspeakable did happen, was it fair to bring another child
into the world strictly as a replacement?
Harry thought back to the very earliest days of their marriage
when preventing conception had theoretically been a shared responsibility,
but had in reality been borne by Laura. As long as she refilled
her prescription, Harry never gave it a thought. Perhaps
now it was his turn to bear the load. A short-term proposition,
with long-term benefits.
"Mike Gleason."
Harry snapped out of his reverie.
“Steele here, Mike. I was---“
“Harry! How are you, buddy? Watching those fat grams?”
“Yes, and I---“
“No more chest pains, I hope?”
“No, but I---“
“Well then, what’s up?”
Steele slowly blew out a breath and counted to five. Laura’s many old beaus were among their professional and business resources, and some he could tolerate more than others. Like Laura, Steele was grateful to Gleason for setting him back on the road to good health. But today he wasn’t making Steele’s query any easier.
“Well, this isn’t exactly your area, Mike, but Laura and I trust your judgment. I’m looking for--- or rather Laura thinks---I mean we decided---“ another deep breath “we’d appreciate a referral to a urologist for a. . .a. . . .”
“Vasectomy?” Gleason guessed.
“In a word, yes.”
“Figures,” Gleason said.
Steele was bewildered by that response. “I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, it’s just that you fit the profile. Professional couple, in their forties, looking for a fail-safe way to avoid pregnancy. Who wants to change diapers forever?”
“Well, it’s a bit more than that.” Harry dodged diaper duty as often as possible, but that was certainly no reason to resort to surgery.
“Of course it is! Believe me, I know.” The irony in Gleason’s voice wasn’t lost on Steele.
“You too?”
“Sure. Half the men I know over 40 have been snipped. It’s no big deal, really. You’ll be sore for a coupla days, that’s all. I know a great urologist. Did mine. Hold on a sec, number’s here somewhere. . . ok, here it is. The name’s Sloan Winslow. 555-5487.”
Although he wasn’t completely convinced he wished to join the club, Steele was still heartened by Gleason’s assurances.
Gleason’s parting words rang in his ear. “Oh, and Harry, remember what they say!”
By now, Steele knew the routine, and he played his part. “Any time, any place?”
“You got it, friend.”
***
Apparently Dr. Winslow was in even more demand than Mike Gleason had imagined. A full two months’ wait was necessary to schedule a consultation. Steele had knitted his brows together in consternation when he told Laura, but secretly he felt as if he’d received a reprieve from the governor.
But the day of the
appointment eventually dawned. The Steeles presented themselves
to Dr. Winslow’s office staff. After the perfunctory medical
forms were completed, they were treated to a film like no other.
It surely wouldn’t make Harry’s top ten list by any
stretch of the imagination. While the medical community might
view it as an accurate and medically up-to-date overview of the
procedure, Harry found it unnecessarily graphic, and on the verge
of nauseating. But the biggest surprise awaited them once they
were finally escorted into Winslow’s office. They sat in
the comfortable leather club chairs facing the doctor’s desk.
Harry remarked, “I see that vasectomies are a thriving commodity in the nation’s economy. Do you think it’d be crass to give him our card?”
Laura ignored his attempt to deflect the conversation. “Still willing to go through with it?” she asked.
Steele was philosophical. “You mean after screening the urologic version of The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”
“Tim Curry, Susan Sarandon, Meatloaf, Twentieth Century Fox, 1975,” Laura responded automatically.
“Good Lord! Why on earth do they make people watch that?”
“Well, then you can’t say they didn’t warn you.”
He grimaced. “Yes, but---“
The door behind them opened with a flourish, and in walked a young woman clad in surgical scrubs, gripping what Steele recognized, with a sinking feeling, was his medical chart.
“Mr. Steele? Mrs. Steele?” The good doctor offered them her hand. “I’m Sloan Winslow.”
They murmured their responses. While Dr. Winslow retreated to her desk, Laura turned to Harry.
“Shades of Home Improvement again,” she whispered.
Harry leaned closer to Laura. “Well then, tell me: did The Tool Man live to regret his decision?”
Looking up at Steele’s remark, Dr. Winslow said, “Not a chance, Mr. Steele. And I doubt you will either.”
“So charming, your American television. Shall we get down to the details?”
After a thorough discussion of its merits and drawbacks, Laura and Harry left Dr. Winslow’s office with an appointment to return for the procedure itself.
***
By the time Laura
pulled into the garage Harry was coherent. He was more than
willing to allow Laura to guide him to the couch and introduce
him to the ice pack. She handed him the remote and placed
a stack of DVDs on a nearby pillow.
"What's this?"
"Something for your recovery time. All the Cary Grant
movies that Amazon had on DVD. 'Arsenic and Old Lace,' 'North
by Northwest,' 'Notorious,' 'Bringing Up Baby,' you name it.
What would you like me to put in first?"
Harry glanced at the pile. "'The Bachelor and The Bobby
Soxer.' He closed his eyes and muttered, "Don't forget
Myrna Loy, Shirley Temple, RKO, 1947."
"I'm going to call Frances and tell her we're home."
"Yes. Please tell your sister I want *mo nighean dubh*
back, post-haste."
Laura smiled at him and started the movie. She came back
to the couch and perched on the edge, trying not to jostle Harry.
She gently smoothed back his hair from his forehead.
"I'm sorry to put you through all this."
Harry opened his eyes and took Laura's hand.
"Nonsense, Laura. What's a few days discomfort for
a lifetime of peace of mind, eh?"
Saturday morning Laura awoke instinctively knowing that something
was wrong. She had purposefully turned off the alarm clock
to allow Harry as much sleep as possible, but light gently streaming
in the window made her glance at the clock anyway. 6:40.
The tinkling of a tiny bell caught Laura's full attention, and
she bolted across the hall to find Olivia kicking her blanket,
and her mobile, making the bell ring. She smiled down at
the baby.
"Good morning, punkin," Laura whispered. "You slept
all night just for Daddy, didn't you? Aren't you a sweet
little girl, you picked the perfect time to do that!"
Olivia kicked and squirmed with even more enthusiasm at her mother's
voice. Laura scooped her up and crossed to the changing
table.
"Let's be very quiet and let Daddy sleep some more, OK?"
Olivia cooed her acquiescence to this plan as Laura made quick
work of a diaper change. They slipped downstairs and had
breakfast together while they waited for Harry to awaken.
***
By 11:00 AM on Monday Steele had had enough. Fortunately, he thought,
Laura's marital instincts had kept her at just the right level
of helpfulness that Harry had easily spent the weekend at home
doing very little of anything. Although he tried to convince
Laura to stay home with him one more day, on Monday morning he
could see that Laura was in full office-mode and he reluctantly
resigned himself to doing something, anything, at the agency.
However, Laura's insistence that he stay at the office while she
and Micah called on a client was not what he had in mind.
He was trapped with Mildred, whose maternal instincts had gone
into overdrive, and as of 11:02 he was not going to take anymore.
"Mildred, could you come in here, please?" he called
on the intercom.
Mildred came in at a trot, ready to do whatever. Seeing the dark
expression on Harry's face, however, her expectant visage was
quickly replaced by one that was more hang-dog.
Harry, just getting warmed up for some cathartic release of his
frustration, saw her look and immediately decided to temper
his tirade.
"Mildred, I know that you mean well but . . . are you diverting
my calls, as it were?"
"Well, I was trying to screen. . . ."
"I've seen the line blinking several times and yet you haven't
put the calls through to me."
"Chief, I just wanted to you to take it easy. I don't
think you should be trying to work today anyway."
Harry rose as quickly as he could, doing his best to look and
feel normal. Mildred, instinctively solicitous despite
his veiled warning, rushed to take his arm. Harry resisted
the urge to shake off her helping hand and instead, he tucked
her hand in his arm and walked her to the office door.
"Mildred, I very much appreciate all you’re doing for
me, but let's just let me decide when I've had enough, eh?
Give me the calls and I'll take it from there, OK?"
Mildred tried not to look too disappointed that her efforts to
shield him from the mundane had failed. As she returned to her
desk, Laura and Micah came in.
"Mildred, everyone doing all right?" She gestured
toward the office door with her head.
”Yes, Boss, but I didn't have much luck cutting down on the
workload, if you know what I mean."
"That's OK, Mildred, at least you tried."
Laura and Micah went into the office where Harry was reading the
paper, again.
"Ah, Laura, Micah. And how are things at Harlicom today?"
"If they ask for one more thing on this new CEO's background
check, I'm going to scream. If they don't like the guy,
why don't they hire someone else?"
Harry came from behind the desk. "Micah, a satisfactory
experience for you?"
"Uh, yessir, pretty dull though. Not the kind of work
I prefer."
"Point taken. But the kind of work that pays the rent."
Laura stood so close to Harry she could feel his body heat radiating
toward her. Unconsciously she leaned toward him, feeling
the pull of an invisible emotional magnet. An awkward moment
passed as no one else had anything else to say.
Micah cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, uh,
I'll just go in my office and enter my notes, so I don't forget
anything important."
As soon as the door closed Laura's arms slipped inside Harry's
coat. She pressed her chin to his chest so that she could
look up at him.
"I missed you. It's not the same going to these boring meetings
without you."
"I missed you, too. There was nothing between me and
the mothering Mildred."
Laura laughed. "Ooh, that can be a bit much.
Micah did very well at the meeting. He's figuring out what
questions to ask, and when to hold his tongue. His instincts
are quite good."
"Yes, they certainly are." He kissed her lightly.
"He also knows when it's time to leave."
"Unlike Mildred." Laura pressed her hands against
his back and kissed him deeply. Harry reciprocated, and
Laura let go of a little of the pent-up energy she had accumulated
over the weekend.
Harry released her with a groan. "Uh, Laura, ahh. .
. the stitches aren't out yet, and..."
Laura took a step back. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just,
well, a week is going to be a long time!"
Harry slowly sat down on the couch. "Might I remind
you, Laura, that it may be a week for you, but it was six long
postpartum weeks for me!"
"And when during those six weeks did we even have the energy?"
Laura countered. "The Little Princess of Darkness,
as you called her, took care of that pretty well."
"I never called her that!"
"Oh yes you did, the third night of the colic."
Harry was silent. Perhaps he had, at the height of their
frustration with the crying that never ceased. He held out his
hand to Laura as a peace offering.
"This evening, I might be prepared to offer other. . . methods.
. . if you wish."
Laura sat down next to him, one leg tucked under the other.
"Oh, that's OK. I'll survive. But you'll let
me know the minute you're feeling *up* to it, won't you?"
He held Laura's face in his hands and kissed her. "Believe
me, when I'm ready, you'll know it."