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dime. As if to say That’s a horse of a different color! She was now brighter, cheerier, and all giggles. After I agreed to read her gay son’s science fiction television pilot, she agreed to look up Samantha’s name on the computer. I felt a wave of nausea and hot-face while I waited for Vicki to come back to the phone.
    “Dan?” She then sighed deeply, which I interpreted as I’ve got really bad news but which could also have been a deep drag off one of her Merit Ultra Lights. I didn’t think anyone could smoke in a medical office, but it was Vegas after all.
    “We haven’t seen Samantha in this office for over two years,” she said, knowing full well the implications of whatshe was saying. “What’s the date on that proof of pregnancy you’re holding?”
    “April of this year,” I told her, a little defeated.
    “Well. We did one for her a few years back when she had her son, but that was the last one.” She asked me to fax it to her. We stayed on the phone as the document emerged from her machine. And then: “You’re looking at a cut-and-paste job, my friend,” she said, with a wacky Columbo ish tone.
    My heart sank. I mean, we knew she was pregnant, so that wasn’t the issue. But her forging this medical document and lying about who knows what else did not bode well for the future of our relationship.
    Coincidentally, we heard from Samantha the next day. An upcoming visit to L.A. was approaching and she needed eighty dollars to buy a suitcase. I wanted to know why she hadn’t been to the doctor in two years. She didn’t flinch. She said it cost fifty bucks every time she went to the doctor and she already knew she was pregnant so she didn’t see the need. It was hard to argue with that logic. But then what about the blood test? I explained that she wouldn’t be able to come out for the next visit until she had it.
    “It’s the lawyer who is insisting on it. Not us. We think it’s a silly rule.” We’d been told to blame all matters of procedure on the lawyer or the system or the court in order to keep our relationship as clean as possible. What also keeps the relationship clean is the birth mom not lying, not disappearing, and not forging documents so much. But nobody’s perfect.
    Our lawyer advised us to get out of the arrangement with Samantha as soon as he heard about the forgery. I was beyond annoyed with him for not doing any of the basic detectivework prior to putting us together with Samantha. But his fees don’t quite cover that level of investigative work. He put us together with a birth mom. The rest was up to us. In other words, you can’t blame a matchmaker if the fix-up is lousy in bed. Samantha’s shortcomings were clearly a result of her inexperience and modest resources. Don wanted to give Samantha the benefit of the doubt and really believed that financial hardship was what deterred her from seeing a doctor. We called her up, assured her we would cover all medical expenses, and set a time for her to see Vicki for a blood test and checkup. The night before her appointment, Don called Samantha and reiterated the importance of this doctor’s visit.
    “We won’t be able to move ahead with the adoption if we don’t get this blood test.”
    “I’ll be there at nine a.m. sharp!” Samantha assured us.
    The following morning at nine thirty, I got a call from Nurse Vicki.
    “Samantha didn’t show up.”
    I swallowed hard. “Really?”
    “Please don’t tell me you’re surprised,” she said, “because I’m not. I’ve seen it a million times.” That didn’t make me feel any better. Where was she? Why was she being so difficult? I hung up the phone. I was done. Finished. I couldn’t take any more of this drama and deception.
    Don called Samantha. She answered the phone, sleepily. She’d overslept! Anyone can oversleep. Right? I shrugged. Don told her to get in a cab and get to the doctor, stat !
    An hour later, Vicki called to say that Samantha had come to the