Pressure Drop Read Free Page A

Mummy,” she said. “What’s wrong, Fielding?” She listened. Nina heard more crying. M.’s foot tapped the carpet. “I’m sure she didn’t mean that,” Brenda said. “She’s really a nice person. Don’t cry, angel. I’ll see you soon.” Pause. “Not long. Right after work.” Pause. “No, that’s on Wednesdays. Today is Monday. I work the full day on Monday. Bye-bye.”
    She hung up. “Goddamned Gina,” she said to M. And to Nina, “We’re having nanny problems. You don’t know of a good one by any chance?”
    â€œNo,” Nina said. “How many children have you got?”
    â€œTwo, but the older one’s in school.”
    Nina turned to M. “What about you?”
    â€œWhat about me what?”
    â€œM. has a daughter,” Brenda said.
    â€œWho lives with her father,” M. said, in a tone devoid of editorial comment. And is her name N.? Nina wanted to ask. But she didn’t.
    â€œAnd you?” Brenda said.
    But before Nina could reply that she seemed to be the only one in the room who fit the target audience of the book they were pushing, Jason opened the door and said, “This way, please,” to someone in the hall. Then the author walked in.
    The author had a pleasant face, if a little too much of it. And there was much too much of the rest of the author—Nina’s companion in the target audience, and candidate for television, where no one had yet invented a gizmo that stopped the camera from adding the obligatory ten pounds.
    Why the hell did she have to be fat? Nina thought as they were introduced. Dr. Filer squeezed herself on the couch between her publishers. For one moment, Nina was afraid that some sort of Three Stooges–style slapstick was about to erupt. Instead Dr. Filer surprised her by saying: “I’m so glad you’re able to see us. I’m here to learn.” The surprise wasn’t just in what she said, but in her voice, a soft Southern contralto that sent a clear message to Nina: radio.
    â€œFine,” Nina said. “Sell me on the ‘and loving it’ part.”
    Dr. Filer smiled. She needed dental work. That could be bought. “It’s simple,” she said. “It’s time women discovered what men have known for a long time—there’s life beyond the home. Work, friends, self-fulfillment, even the life of the mind. If lots of women are going to end up alone in life, as seems certain to be the case, they might as well learn not to feel devastated about it. Women have taken some big steps in the last twenty years and the men haven’t kept up. There aren’t enough quality men out there, and that’s not going to change very quickly.”
    It wasn’t a bad answer, but it wasn’t great, either. On paper. But the voice was lovely, musical, soothing. The woman was handsome. They had time: time to fix the book, time to send her to a spa, time to get her teeth fixed.
    â€œOkay,” Nina said. “We’ve made a start. I’ll send you a summarizing memo tomorrow and we can go on from there.”
    â€œGreat,” said Brenda.
    â€œWonderful,” said Dr. Filer.
    M. said nothing. She was looking at the marmalade smear on the first page of Nina’s manuscript.
    â€œBy the way, Dr. Filer,” Nina said, “I think we can do without that Tolstoy parody.”
    â€œI agree completely,” Dr. Filer said sweetly. She smiled at M. “It wasn’t in the original draft.” The pink patches appeared again on M.’s cheeks.
    They left. Nina called the Donahue show and spoke to Gordie. She and Gordie had worked together long ago in radio on “All Things Considered.” Nina described the book and the author. Gordie promised to get back.
    Nina worked. She had two more meetings, took phone calls, made phone calls, wrote the memo. Amalia never showed up. Rosie called to say