Motherhood is Murder(58)

Sounds of Paula getting out of the car. The car door slams.

Paula: I’m walking toward the entrance. I’m going to shut up now so she doesn’t think I’m some weirdo who talks to herself.

Sounds of a door opening.

Paula: Hello?

Celia: Oh hi. Can I help you?

Sounds of shuffling.

“We can fast-forward a bit. This part’s all small talk,” Paula said.

I nodded. Paula pressed the forward button on the recorder and held it down for several seconds. When she released it, the recording continued.

Celia: Are you interested in a home birth?

Paula: Yeah. I had my son at the hospital and I’d like to try—

Celia: Did you have a bad experience?

Paula: No. Not really. Just, you know, I don’t really like hospitals.

Celia: Most healthy people don’t. That’s one of the benefits of the home births. There’s less stress and fear in a home.

Paula: Do you . . . I mean would you do it at my house?

Celia: Whatever you’re comfortable with. This can be your home away from home. A lot of people prefer the center, and remember, not everyone who wants a home birth has a home. This center is for everyone. Would you like to see the birthing room?

Paula: Uh . . . no.

I raised an eyebrow at Paula. She paused the tape.

“Why didn’t you go look at the room?” I asked.

“For what? I’m not actually going to have my baby there, you know. Not even for you.”

I laughed. “Still. You could have checked it out. It’s actually kind of nice.”

Paula giggled. “I knew that would kill you. You can’t stand the thought that I had an opportunity to poke around and didn’t.”

“Well, you have to be sort of convincing. I mean, you’re there on the pretext of wanting to hire a midwife and then you don’t even look at the facility.”

Paula waved her hand. “Ah, no big deal. She gave me this and I oohed and aahed at all the right places.”

She pulled a glossy brochure from her purse. It contained several pictures of the birthing room, complete with a birth tub and balls.

“Did you ask her about her boyfriend?” I asked.

Paula nodded and pressed the Play button on the recorder.

Paula: How long have you been doing this?

Celia: Almost three years.

Paula: Are you certified?

Celia: Of course.

I sipped my tea. “You asked her for certification?”

Paula nodded. “Yeah. I was trying to get a groove on her. She gave me enough rubbish on the benefits of home births and births in a ‘home away from home’ to make me think she was legit.”

She fidgeted with the recorder and the playback resumed.

Paula: So are you a nurse?

Celia: I was. Yes. In Miami. An ob-gyn nurse. Then I decided to go into business for myself and really focus on what I love. You know if you just give your dreams a chance, it can change your life. You’re dreaming of having your baby without all the trappings of the hospital. I can help you.

When are you due? Who’s your doctor now?

Paula: Uh. In March. Dr. Reynolds.

Celia: Do you have her number?

Paula: What?

Celia: I can call your doctor and begin the process to find out if you’re a good candidate for home birth—

Paula: Oh no. I mean, I have to think about it. You know, talk to my husband. You know how men are. Are you married?

Celia: No.

Paula: You have a boyfriend?

Celia: Not at the moment.

Silence.

I raised an eyebrow. Paula held up her hand, indicating for me to wait.

Celia: I was seeing someone, but well . . . things got complicated.

Paula: I’m sorry. Affairs of the heart can be complicated. Was it recent?

Celia: Yes. Very.

Paula: My toughest breakup was this married guy I was seeing. It wasn’t one of those, was it?

Celia: Actually . . .

Paula: Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t stand being second. Well, he would tell me I was first, but he wouldn’t leave her—

Celia: Yes. That’s it. We broke it off because he won’t leave her.

Paula: Don’t worry—there’s plenty of Tom, Dick, and Alans out there.

I laughed.

Paula stopped the tape. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Wait! What was her reaction when you mentioned Alan?”

“Nothing. She just kind of looked sad and shrugged. The rest of the tape is her persuading me to leave my OB and become her client. You know, having a home birth gives you maximum control over your birth experience, blah blah. You can listen to it later; hearing the sales pitch once was enough for me.”

“Tell me how you really feel about it.”

Paula laughed. “Well, I got her to say she was with a married guy. But not who. I didn’t know how to get that part without downright asking her—are you seeing a podiatrist name Alan?”

“It’s okay. You did great. Good stuff to go on.” I raised my eyebrow at her. “I never knew you had a thing for married men. I promise I won’t tell your husband. Unless . . . I wonder how much my silence is worth to you . . .”

Paula jogged my elbow. “Don’t be a twit. That lie was only to elicit her feelings of camaraderie. If this tape surfaces on the Internet, I know where to find you.”