A Perfect Life: A Novel (28 page)

Blaise didn’t know it, but Salima had told him, in the many texts they exchanged daily, that her mother was in Morocco, interviewing the king and queen, and then a few days later that she was in Paris on the way home. Simon didn’t comment, but Salima liked to give him news of her sometimes. And as Simon read the texts from Salima, he thought about the life Blaise led. It was one of the great differences between them. She was a world-famous, glamorous network star, a woman of great accomplishments, and he had done so little compared to her, but even if he was satisfied with his life, he had enjoyed hers. He missed being part of it and being with her and Salima. He always told Salima how much he missed her, and she told him she was teaching Becky to cook from the recipes he had left. Salima quipped to him about her, “I cook better, and I’m blind.” And he told her to be nice. He loved her texts and e-mails, and they communicated daily, often many times. Salima respected his opinions about everything, and his advice. He was her hero.

But she was getting on well with Becky after a month with her.
She just wasn’t an exciting person, or as much fun as Simon, but she was willing to learn.

Salima was busy every day now with Lucianna, preparing for her audition at Juilliard. She had taken a tour of the school with Lucianna, and all Salima wanted now was to get in. Lucianna had written a recommendation for her, which Salima hoped would carry some weight. Her audition was scheduled at the end of March, and she texted Simon that she was worried about that too. Hearing what she was doing made Simon miss them all the more.

Blaise was startled when her BlackBerry rang in Paris, it was from a blocked number, so she answered. It was Andrew. She hadn’t talked to him in a long time and didn’t want to now, but he had caught her by surprise, and she didn’t want to be rude and hang up.

“Where are you now?” he asked her, envisioning her in New York. He was at his office, and it was morning for him. For Blaise, it was the end of the day. And his voice sounded as sultry and sexy as it always had, when it made her knees go weak. But this time it didn’t. She was bored listening to him.

“I’m walking around the Faubourg St. Honoré in Paris, to do some shopping,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You lead a golden life,” he said, aware that she didn’t sound excited to hear him, or even interested in what he said.

“I guess I do.” The trip to Morocco had done her good. She felt a little better physically, and being in Paris even for a day was exciting. She had just spent three days with a king and princess visiting a gorgeous palace, had a rest in Marrakech, lying in the sun and
exploring the Soukh, the bazaar filled with treasures, and she had bought a mountain of fun things for Salima, including a vest with little bells she knew she’d love, and now she was in Paris, about to do some shopping, and staying at the Ritz. Simon had told her once, when she was agonizing over the threat of Susie Quentin, not to forget who she was. And now Susie was gone, Blaise was still herself, a successful, powerful woman with a “golden life,” as Andrew said. The only thing missing was Simon. But not Andrew anymore. She didn’t miss him at all.

“Why don’t I call you later?” he suggested. “You sound busy.” He could hear the traffic noises behind her as she crossed the street toward Hermès.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, standing in the lateafternoon March sunshine on the Faubourg.

“Are you there with someone?” he asked, pretending to sound jealous, but she doubted that he really was. It was just an act he put on, like everything else. Suddenly, he sounded sleazy, and none of her memories of him were good. At least Simon had been a decent person and genuinely loved her, even if he was young and confused.

“No, I’m not,” she said in answer to his question. “I’m alone and enjoying it thoroughly.” She didn’t ask him about his wife this time. She didn’t care. It had taken her almost five years to get there, but she had finally arrived. “Don’t call me later, Andrew. I have nothing to say. And neither do you.” He was shocked when he responded a minute later after a startled pause.

“What’s gotten into you?” He sounded hurt, but she knew he wasn’t. Only his ego was bruised. He had no heart.

“I guess I finally got over you. It was long overdue.” He didn’t
know what to say, so for a moment he said nothing, sure that she’d warm up to him again. She had loved him so much. But that was old news. “Thanks for the call,” she said, “but don’t do it again.” And before he could say another word, she hung up. She stood outside Hermès laughing to herself out loud and feeling great. She walked into Hermès then and bought herself a gorgeous yellow bag, a Birkin, three scarves, and a bottle of perfume. And for once, finally, as Simon had suggested, she knew exactly who she was.

When Blaise got back to the apartment in New York, from the airport, Salima was practicing with Lucianna, and Becky was in the kitchen with an anxious expression, trying to make a soufflé. For a fraction of an instant, it made Blaise sad and reminded her of Simon. But poor Becky looked so incongruous, and so stressed, that Blaise laughed.

“Don’t feel bad,” she reassured her. “I can’t make one either. How’s everything?” she said, putting her travel bag down, and taking off her coat. She looked well and was feeling better, and she had slept on the plane. “Salima okay?”

“She’s fine,” Becky said as she slid the ceramic dish into the oven and smiled at Blaise. “We had a nice time while you were gone. We went to see a Broadway musical. I’d never been to one before, it was great.” She was discovering a whole new world in New York, and this time Salima was playing teacher and enjoying it a lot. Becky was only ten years older than she was, but they looked about the same age. She was a nice, wholesome country girl, and Blaise had grown fond of her in the past eight weeks.

Blaise went to change her clothes and unpack the things she’d brought home for Salima, and she had brought a sweater home from Paris for Becky, in a pale blue the color of her eyes. And by the time Salima finished her lesson with Lucianna, Becky was pulling the soufflé out of the oven with a terrified look, and then a groan of dismay. Blaise had just walked back into the kitchen and smiled. Half the soufflé had risen perfectly, and the other half had fallen, so she was improving, but not there yet. Salima told her what she’d done wrong, when Becky explained the situation to her. She had gotten strict advice from Simon on it. And Blaise said it didn’t matter, it would taste good anyway, and it did.

The three women chatted at the kitchen table, and for the first time in nearly two months since Simon had left, the atmosphere was lighter. All three of them laughed, and Blaise told them about her trip, and then gave them their presents. It felt like home again, and not because of Simon this time, but because of the three people who were there.

Becky loved her sweater and thanked Blaise profusely. She had never had anything from Paris. And Salima loved the Moroccan vest with the little bells.

It was the first night that Blaise hadn’t gone to bed early, feeling crushed. The trip to Morocco and Paris had done her good. And Mark could see it the next day. She looked fresh and alive on the air, and when she strode into her office, Mark told her how great she looked.

“Those vitamins must have really helped,” he said, looking relieved.

“No, I think Paris did. I had fun. I went shopping all by myself.” And then she giggled evilly. “And when Andrew called, I blew him off.”

“Hallelujah,” Mark said, celebrating the victory, and then Blaise got to work. She wanted to see the interview she’d done in Morocco and check how they edited it.

Blaise spent a nice weekend with Salima and Becky. She took them out to dinner, and they had fun, and in quiet moments alone, she wrestled with her decision. She knew she still had time, but not too much. She had already made up her mind to have the abortion, but she was dragging her feet and hadn’t called her gynecologist to schedule it yet. She was planning to, but now and then she’d wonder for a minute what it would be like to have a baby there, with her and Salima, if they could manage it, or if it would be more than she could cope with. She had always thought it would be, but the subject had never come up for her again since Salima, nor did it have any appeal. Now, for only brief seconds, she let herself fantasize about it, and then shut down again. She wondered if she was sentimental because of her feelings for Simon. But she knew that if she had this baby, it would be hers, not theirs. He had the life he had begun with Megan, and would have the children he had with her.

If she had it, which wasn’t even a possibility in her mind, she planned to notify him when it was born, and make some kind of visitation arrangement. She wouldn’t share the pregnancy with him, and she had no desire to be a burden to him, or use it to create a bond he didn’t want, if he was involved with someone else, which was the case. His silence for the last two months made that clear.
She had told him not to call her when he left, assuming he’d be with Megan. She didn’t want to be the other woman in his life, or older ex-girlfriend he felt sorry for. She had wanted him all to herself. But she realized now what a loss it was not to hear from him at all.

And at this point, he had inadvertently become a sperm donor and nothing more. Her feelings for him were irrelevant. She still loved him, but in a distant benevolent way, knowing he had moved on. The agonizing pain of the first few weeks after he left had begun to dull. It was more of a chronic ache now, one that she could live with, a void she’d have to learn to fill with other things. And if by some insanity, she had the baby, he could see it and spend time with it, but she no longer expected to have a relationship with him or even hoped for one.

All she had to do now was make the decision about whether to have the baby. She called her doctor on Monday, a week after she got back to work. All weekend, it had been gnawing at her that maybe at her age it was a miracle she had no right to reject. She just wasn’t sure. And there surely wouldn’t be another opportunity.

“What are you going to do, Blaise?” her gynecologist asked her when Blaise left work early to see her on Tuesday afternoon. She had been awake the night before until the sun came up, wondering what to do.

“I don’t know. I feel a little crazy and conflicted about having it. I’ve never wanted another baby.” She didn’t tell her that she hadn’t wanted the first one either. Both pregnancies had been accidents, and she felt like at her age she should have known better, but they had been careful every time but once. “My daughter is type 1 diabetic,
and all the genetic counselors we saw told us that it would probably never happen again. I really wouldn’t want to go through it. And she lives at home now, and is blind. So I have a lot on my plate already, and a big career. And I’m not involved with this baby’s father. We broke up two months ago.” The gynecologist looked sorry to hear it.

“Is he a nice guy?”

“Very. He wanted a baby, and I told him I couldn’t get pregnant at my age, and I thought it was true,” she said ruefully. “He’s involved with someone else now, so if I do this, I’d be on my own.”

“I had a fifty-one-year-old woman in here last week who thought she couldn’t get pregnant either. Nature surprises us sometimes. You have to do what’s best for you. Particularly if you’re doing it alone.”

“What’s she doing about it?” Blaise asked about the fifty-one-year-old woman.

“She’s having the baby. But she’s married, and her husband is thrilled. They’d even considered adopting, so this works for them. What about you? Have you told the father?”

“No, and I’m not going to. We’re not in contact. I think it’s best that way. I’ll tell him if I have it. But I want to make the decision on my own, because if I have it, he won’t be around to help me. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about it. I was sure I was going to have an abortion, and I probably am. But I keep wondering if it’s some kind of gift. At my age, maybe it is.” The doctor smiled, looking noncommittal. She didn’t want to interfere.

“You have about two weeks if you want an abortion,” she said simply, just to let Blaise know the time frame. “And if you decide to
keep the pregnancy, you should have a CVS next week, to check for genetic anomalies. It wouldn’t be recommended after that, and in that case you could have amniocentesis. But I think CVS would be a good idea. So you should try to make the decision this week.” She was two and a half months pregnant. And the sonogram the doctor did after that showed a strong heartbeat, and Blaise could see the baby on the screen. She tried not to think about it after she left the doctor’s office. This was not about the baby and what had caused it, her love for Simon. It was about her life, and what she thought she could handle or not. Her responsibility for Salima was huge, and Harry was no help. She did it all alone. And she would this time too. She was sad again that Simon had gone back to Megan, but he had. Now she had to figure out what to do about this baby—abort it or have it on her own. She lay on her bed when she got home, and all she could think of was having a baby in her arms again. Simon’s baby. Even though she kept telling herself that he would never be part of her life again and he belonged to someone else, she knew that the baby was his, and the result of their love. And even if they had only been together for a brief time, and weren’t meant to be together forever, they had loved each other deeply. And the baby that had happened as a result was undeniably a gift.