Life Blood --V---Page 16

I was feeling a bit off center that evening, but I explained it
away as mental overload, the rain, and the implied threats. That
diagnosis got revised the next morning when I awoke with a mind-
numbing headache, chills alternating with a mild fever, and my
chest feeling like it was caught in a compactor. It was a so-called
common cold, but there was nothing common about my misery,
which was truly exceptional.

I made a cup of Echinacea tea and then washed down 2000
mg of Vitamin C with some aging orange juice from my fridge,
after which I took a couple of Tylenol, put on yesterday's jeans,
and headed uptown to work. I also treated myself to a cab.

When I settled into the cluttered corner room that was my

office, I told myself this was not a day to make any big decisions.
Just stick to matters that required nothing more than autopilot.
        The first thing I did was call Lou to check on Sarah (no
change), and then I told him about my Hispanic visitor. He made
concerned sounds and promised to accompany me on any further
location shoots.

Next I pulled out my date book and punched in a phone

number I'd scribbled in the back. I'd gotten it when I was winding up my interview with Carly Grove.

"Children of Light," said an unctuous voice. "This is Ramala."
        I hesitated a moment before giving my name. They already
 knew who I was; Ramala or somebody had called Paula Marks and asked about me. Me. What would she do when she heard it was yours truly in the flesh?

I tried to take a deep breath, working around the feeling my lungs were on fire, and identified myself.

Ramala received the information as though she'd never heard of me. Maybe she hadn't. Then I asked for an appointment with Alex Goddard. As soon as it was convenient.

"He leaves his Saturdays open," she said, more of the smiley voice, "so I could make a special appointment for you tomorrow. Would ten A.M. be all right?"

Her accent was the kind of Delhi colonial-ruling-class you

associate with expensive silk saris and ruby bracelets, yet at the
same time her voice had an overlay of that melodious, touchy-

feely unctuousness you hear on relaxation tapes. I half expected
her to next say, inhale deeply and feel the love flowing through
the universe. In any case, she couldn't have sounded more open
and forthcoming.

I had to remind myself immediately that it wasn't true. Given the inquisitive phone call to Paula Marks, Children of Light was an organization that deeply cherished its privacy. Presumably they had a reason, and that reason didn't necessarily have to be
sinister, but still, I had every reason to think they were upset about me and it made me paranoid. And now Alex Goddard immediately had time for a "special appointment."

"Ten o'clock will be fine," I said, just barely croaking the words out of my chest.

She gave me directions for reaching the Riverdale clinic,
called Quetzal Manor, and hung up. I felt so miserable I could
barely remember afterward what she'd said, but fortunately I'd
taken notes.

Quetzal Manor. An odd choice for a name, I'd thought.

Some kind of bird sacred to the Maya Indians of Central America.
But then Paula had mentioned at one point that he was very
interested in indigenous Third World herbs and remedies. So
maybe it fit.

But still, one big puzzle kept coming back to haunt: How do
you produce perfectly healthy siblings six months apart? (I
actually called Carly and Paula back to verify the ages.) The more I thought about Kevin and Rachel, the more I realized they were so unmistakably related.

Puzzling over that, I began to wonder if maybe I was on the
verge of uncovering a blockbuster documentary. Could we be
talking something approaching science fiction here? Making
documentaries, you're always on the lookout for the unexpected,
the fresh. So how about an organization that could obtain
beautiful Caucasian babies seemingly at will, including peas-in-a-
pod born a few months apart? I was already framing a pitch to
David in my mind.

Anyway, the rest of the day, while I was busy battling my cold
with antihistamines and lots of hot soup, I mounted a major phone
inquiry just to make sure all the rules on adoption hadn't somehow
changed when I wasn't looking. They hadn't. First off, to get a
child in three or four months, you'd almost certainly have to go
with foreign adoption. China was everybody's flavor of the month,
because they favored older parents and also because the one-

child-per-family policy there had ended up producing a wide-scale abandonment of girls (who were all those precious boys going to marry? I often found myself wondering). However, the shifting
politics there made the process very unreliable. A few months?
Don't even think about it.

Pressing on, I satisfied myself that the country-specific

organizations that found babies in the emerging parts of the world
all still worked the same. Cradle of Hope specialized in orphaned
Russian kids. Children and Families, Inc., provided adoptions for
Equadorian children. International Adoption Assistance, Inc.,
handled Brazilian orphans. But they all were still fussy, and they
could take ages. How about a brand-new healthy baby in just a
few months? I'd ask. Some kind of new fast track? The question
was always taken as a joke. . . 

                             I would be driving up to Quetzal Manor in my old Toyota, and I 
                                dearly wished Steve could somehow materialize and be with me.
                                 In his absence, however, I convinced Lou to come along. I figured
                                  the change of scene would do him good, and I also wanted the
                           security of having him with me, after the threatening phone call to
                                     Paula and the Hispanic thug who'd accosted me outside her
                                  apartment building. Besides, it'd just be a couple of hours