Life Blood --VII---Page 24

"Quetzal Manor could have the makings of a great

documentary," I was explaining to David Roth. "I just need some
more information-gathering first, to get a better feeling for what
Alex Goddard is up to. So going back up there will be two birds
with one stone. I'll learn more about him, and he might even be
able to tell me why I haven't been able to get pregnant."

He was frowning, his usual skeptical self. "How long—?"

"It's just for the weekend, or maybe a little . . . I'm not sure
exactly. I guess it depends on what kinds of tests he's going to
run. But the thing is, I have to do it now, while he and I are still
clicking. An 'iron is hot' kind of moment. The only possible
problem might be if I have to push back my schedule for looping
dialogue for Baby Love and then somebody's out of town."
        "You check with the sound studio to warn them about possible
rescheduling?" He wanted to appear to be fuming. But since he'd
invited me down to his Tribeca loft at least once every three
months, now that I'd finally shown up, he also had a small gleam
in his eye. What did that mean?

"Yes, but I've already spotted most of the work print, and I've made tentative dates for people to come in. In a week and a half. Everything's still on schedule."

He leaned back on his white couch, as though trying to

regroup. It was Saturday morning and I'd already made the

appointment to see Alex Goddard. I was going. I probably should
have run it by David first, but damnit, it was my life.
        Truthfully, though, I'd been dreading telling him all week, so to
try and make him as congenial as possible, I'd arranged to see
him at home and relaxed. It seemed to be working, more or less.
        "Okay, okay, sometimes I guess it's best to just go with your
gut," he said, beginning to calm down. He'd offered to whip up
some brunch when I first arrived, and now I was feeling sorry I'd
turned him down. I really did like him. But, alas, only as a friend.
"Before I cave in totally, though, do me a favor and tell me some
more about this . . . documentary? What, exactly, makes you think
it's—"

"Everything." Whereupon I laid on him the full story of Carly
and Paula, the children, and my encounter with Alex Goddard.

The only thing I left out was the story of the Hispanic hood since I didn't think he could handle it.

"This Quetzal Manor sounds like a funny operation," he

declared solemnly when I'd finished. "I say the less you have to
do with a place like that, the better. Who knows what's going on."
        "But, David that's what makes it so interesting. The fact that it
is a 'funny' operation. I really can see a documentary here, after
Baby Love is in the can. But I'll never have a chance if I don't get
to know this guy while I've got a good excuse. That's how my
business works."

"So you're going to go back up there and . . . Is this like going undercover or something?"

"Well . . ." What was I going to say? I was actually half

beginning to believe that Alex Goddard might be able to figure out why Steve and I couldn't conceive. It was certainly worth a few days of my life, documentary or no documentary. "Look, I really want to find out what's going on. For a lot of reasons."
        He sighed and sipped at his coffee.

"Morgy, this has got to be quick. Nicky Russo called again.
The thing I've learned about loan sharks, they keep your books
better than you do. He knows exactly how much money we've got
left and how long we can last. He's licking his chops, getting ready
to eat us whole."

"What did you tell him?" The very thought of Nicky gave me a chill. If we missed so much as a week on the juice, he'd have the legal right to just seize my negative. When you're desperate, you sign those kinds of loans.

"I told him something I haven't even told you yet." He smiled a
wicked grin. "I know you've been schmoozing Lifetime about a
cable deal, but before we put the ink to that, I want to finish some
new talks I've started with Orion, their distribution people."
        I think I stopped breathing for a second or two. Was there a
chance for a theatrical release for Baby Love, not just a cable
deal?

"When . . . You've actually met with them? How—?"

"Late yesterday." He was still grinning. "I ran into Jerry Reiner
at Morton's and pitched the picture. Actually, I heard he was in
town, so I wore a tie and ambushed him at lunch. He wants to see
a rough cut as soon as we've got something ready."
        "David, you're an angel." I was ecstatic. It was more than I'd
dared hope for.

"So stay focused, for chrissake, and finish your picture. We're
this close to saving our collective asses, so don't blow it. I've gone
over all the schedules pretty carefully, and I'd guess we can spare
a day or two, but if you drag this out, I'm going to read you your
contract, the fine print about due diligence, and then finish up the
final cut myself. I mean it. Don't make me do that."

"Don't you even think about that." Never! "This is my picture."
        "Just business. If it's a choice between doing what I gotta do,
 or having Nicky Russo chew me a new asshole and become the silent partner in Applecore, guess what it's gonna be."
        "David, you know I would never let that happen." I walked
over and gave him the sweetest hug I knew how, still filled with joy. "And thanks so much for trying to get us a theatrical. You
don't know how much that means to me."

"Hey, don't try the charm bit on me. I'm serious. I'll cut you a
weekend's slack, but then it's back to the salt mines. Either this
picture's in the can inside of six weeks, or we're both going to be
looking for new employment. So go the hell up there, do whatever
it is you're going to do, and then get this damned picture finished.
There'll be plenty of time after that to worry about our next project.
With luck we might even have the money for it."

With that ultimatum still ringing in my ears, I took my leave of David Roth and headed north, up the Henry Hudson Parkway. My life was getting too roller-coaster for words. . .

As I drove, I tried not to dwell on the practical aspects of what was coming. It was hard to imagine what tests Alex Goddard
could perform that hadn't already been done by Hannah Klein.
Just thinking back over that dismal sequence made me feel babydespondent all over again.

When I first mentioned I was thinking about trying to get

pregnant, she looked me over, perhaps mentally calculating my
age and my prospects, and then made a light suggestion.
        "Why don't I give you a prescription for Clomid. Clomiphene
citrate enhances ovulation, and it might be a good idea in your
case. You're still young, Morgan, but you're no longer in the first
blush of youth."

I took it for six months, but nothing happened. That was the beginning of my pregnancy depression.

By that time, she'd decided I definitely had a problem, so she
began what she called an "infertility workup." The main thing was
to check my Fallopian tubes for blockages and look for ovulatory