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due date of September 5th.” She
squints. “Not August 15th.”
    I
am at a loss to explain this discrepancy but fear it may signal that the baby
is not developing normally. “How could that be…? Is there something…?”
    “There is a little room for variation,” she tells me, a calming tone now
saturating her voice. “Let’s go with August 15th and keep an eye on things.
We’ll get a new measurement next time.”
    Another
question nips at me. “What about the bleeding? I told Marci… There was a spot
the size of a silver dollar yesterday.”
    She
mops my belly clean with a soft rag and helps me sit up. “Did you have spotting
with your first pregnancy?”
    Before
I can answer, Tim blurts, “No, we didn’t.”
    “What
color was the blood?”
    “Sort
of reddish-brown.”
    “Any
pain?”
    I
shake my head.
    “What
about clots? Or tissue?”
    “No,”
I say. “Nothing.”
    “From
what I’ve seen, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” she assures me.
“It’s probably idiopathic and transient. All of the structures look good; the
embryo has implanted in the proper place. I’d say you’re in the clear.” She
offers a smile that suggests we may be neurotic. “But if the bleeding
continues, or stops then recurs, you should contact us immediately.”
    I
sense a ticking clock that has just zinged past our allotted appointment time.
“Okay,” I agree with a complicit glance at Tim. “We’ll do that.”
    ----
    There
is a ghoulish picture of a naked woman on Eric Blair’s cell phone, spread-eagle
and wanton. At least five men in the office have seen it and say it’s the most
titillating pornography upon which they have ever laid eyes. Through the
grapevine, I know they believe it’s me.
    I
glimpse Eric through my office window and decide to settle the matter, once and
for all. As swiftly as my middle-aged, five-months pregnant body can move, I
pop out of my chair and give chase, my prey nearly vanishing into the elevator.
“Eric!” I call, breathless from the exertion.
    He
turns in slow motion, as if he expects the sight of me to hurt. But he smiles.
“Claire-bear.”
    I
summon all the self-control I possess, which may be minimal given my erratic
hormones of late. “I need to talk to you.”
    He
takes a couple of lurid, hip-swinging steps in my direction and purrs,
“Anything you say.”
    His
hypersexual affect would be sickening, even if I weren’t pregnant. “In my
office.”
    I
march back down the hall and he follows, his gaze burrowing into me. Already, I
regret this contact.
    I
close the door after us and assume the power position behind the giant slab of
mahogany that is my desk, but Eric refuses to play along. Instead of sitting,
he loiters, fondles things that do not belong to him. “So what’s up?”
    I
clear my throat. “I’ve become aware of an image that’s circulating,” I begin,
“of a woman.”
    He
shoots me a Cheshire grin and props his foot on the arm of an empty chair, his
crotch pointing at me in the same way I imagine this mysterious photograph to
be. “Sorry about that,” he claims, “but it was too good not to share.”
    “This
type of behavior is strictly prohibited in the workplace,” I inform him. “Get
rid of it, or I’ll have to tell Bob.”
    “You
look great,” he says. “Some of my best work. I didn’t even have to touch it
up.”
    A
chill rolls through me. “Cut the shit, Eric,” I say. “Stop screwing around.”
    He
lifts an industrial-sized bottle of prenatal vitamins from the corner of my
desk and spins it around, studying the label. “Do these cause breast
enlargement?” he asks, planting his gaze on my chest. “Because from where I
stand…”
    I
feel like a rat in a sadistic experiment. “Just get rid of the picture,” I
reiterate. “I don’t want to have to—”
    He
steps on my words. “You were good, you know. I don’t think I told you. We can
do it again, once this situation resolves,” he says, gesturing at