“No one did,” added Candy. “Cheryl kept it a secret till she heard that I’d had an abortion. Then she confided in me, and it was a good thing she did. I sent her to my doctor, who suggested amniocentesis because Cheryl said she’d been doing drugs right through her second month. She hadn’t realized she was pregnant.”

“What did the test show?” asked Jennifer.

“That the baby is deformed. There’s something wrong with its genes. That’s what they look for when they do an amniocentesis.”

Jennifer turned back to Cheryl, who was still staring into her expresso, trying not to cry.

“What does the father think?” asked Jennifer and then was sorry, for Cheryl put her hands over her face and began to sob bitterly. Candy put her arm about Cheryl as Jennifer glanced around at the nearby tables. No one was paying attention. Only in New York could you have such privacy in a public place. Cheryl took a tissue from her purse and blew her nose loudly.

“The father’s name is Paul,” she said sadly.

“How does he feel about your having an abortion?” asked Jennifer.

Cheryl wiped her eyes, examining a dark smudge of mascara on the tissue. “I don’t know. He took off and left me.”

“Well,” said Candy, “that gives us a pretty good idea about how he feels. The bastard. I wish men could take on the burden of being pregnant, say every other year. I think they might be a little more responsible if that were the case.”

Cheryl wiped her eyes again, and Jennifer suddenly realized how terribly young and vulnerable the girl was. It made the problem posed by her own pregnancy seem small in comparison.

“I’m so scared,” Cheryl was saying. “I haven’t told anyone because if my father finds out, he’ll kill me.”

“Well, I hope you’re not going to the hospital by yourself,” said Jennifer with alarm.

“It won’t be so bad,” said Candy with some assurance. “I’d been worried before my abortion, but it went smoothly. The people at the Julian Clinic are outstandingly warm and sensitive. Besides, Cheryl will have the world’s best gynecologist.”

“What’s his name?” asked Jennifer, thinking that she could not say the same about Dr. Vandermer.

“Lawrence Foley,” said Candy. “I’d been turned on to him by another girl who had to have an abortion.”

“It seems like he’s doing a lot of abortions,” said Jennifer.

Candy nodded. “It’s a big city.”

Jennifer sipped her cappuccino, wondering how to tell her friends that she herself had just found out she was pregnant. She postponed the moment by turning back to Cheryl and saying, “Perhaps you’d like it if I went with you tomorrow. Seems to me you could use some company.”

“I’d love that,” said Cheryl, her face brightening.

“Not so fast, Mrs. Schonberg,” said Candy. “We have rehearsal.”

Jennifer raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Well, I have some news myself. I found out yesterday that I’m two and a half months pregnant myself.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Candy.

“Oh, yes!” said Jennifer. “And when I tell Jason, he may not care whether I come to rehearsal or not.”

Candy and Cheryl were too stunned to speak. In silence, the three finished their coffee, paid the bill, and set off for the studio.

Jason was not there when they arrived, and Jennifer felt relieved and disappointed at the same time. She removed her outer clothes and found a free area on the dance floor. Turning sideways, she lifted her sweatshirt so that she could see her profile. She had to admit that she already showed a little.

Adam washed his hands in the men’s room on the first floor of the hospital complex. Catching a glimpse of his haggard face in the mirror, he realized he looked exhausted. Well, maybe it would make the dean more sympathetic. After his disastrous meeting with his father, Adam had decided his only recourse was an additional student loan from the medical center. Straightening his frayed button-down collar, he thought he certainly looked poor and deserving, and that he should go directly to the dean’s office before he lost his courage.

Bursting into the secretary’s office to demand an appointment, Adam was almost dismayed when the woman said she thought the dean had a few moments between appointments. She went in to check. When she returned, she said Adam could go right in.

Dr. Markowitz stood as Adam crossed his office threshold. He was a short, stocky man with dark curly hair not unlike Adam’s. He had a deep tan, even though it was just March. He approached Adam with his hand outstretched. When they shook hands, his other hand grasped the back of Adam’s.

“Please, sit down.” The dean gestured to a black academic chair in front of his desk.

From his chair Adam could see a manila folder with his name on the tab. Adam had met the dean only a few times, but each time Dr. Markowitz had acted as if he were intimately aware of Adam’s situation. He had obviously pulled the file in the minute or two Adam had been kept waiting.

Adam cleared his throat. “Dr. Markowitz, I’m sorry to take your time, but I’ve got a problem.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” said Dr. Markowitz, although his smile relaxed an appreciable amount. Adam recognized that the dean was more politician than doctor. He had an unhappy feeling that this meeting would be no better than the one with his father. He crossed his legs and gripped his ankle to keep his hands from shaking.

“I just found out my wife is pregnant,” he began, watching Dr. Markowitz’s face for signs of disapproval. They weren’t subtle. First, the dean’s smile vanished. Then his eyes narrowed as he folded his arms guardedly across his chest.

“Needless to say,” continued Adam, trying to keep up his courage, “this is going to put us in a financial bind. My wife and I depend on her income, and now with a child on the way…” Adam’s voice trailed off. You didn’t need to be a fortune-teller to know the rest.

“Well,” said Dr. Markowitz with a forced laugh, “I’m an internist, not an obstetrician. Never was very good at delivering babies.”

Some sense of humor, thought Adam.

“My wife sees Dr. Vandermer,” said Adam.

“He’s the best,” offered Dr. Markowitz. “Can’t get better obstetrical care than Dr. Vandermer. He delivered our two children.”

There was an awkward pause. Adam became aware of the ticking of an antique Howard clock hanging on the wall to his left. Dr. Markowitz leaned forward and opened the folder on his desk. He read for a moment, then looked up.

“Adam, have you considered that this might not be a good time to start your family?”

“It was an accident,” said Adam, wanting to avoid a lecture if that was what the dean had intended. “A birth control failure. A statistic. But now that it has happened, we have to deal with it. We need additional financial support or I have to drop out of school for a year or so. It’s as simple as that.”

“Have you thought about terminating this pregnancy?” asked Dr. Markowitz.

“We’ve thought about it, but neither one of us is willing to do so.”

“What about family support?” questioned Dr. Markowitz. “I don’t think that dropping out of school is a wise move. You have a lot invested in getting to where you are today. I’d hate to see that put in jeopardy.”

“There’s no chance of family support,” said Adam. He didn’t want to get into a conversation about his father’s intransigence or his in-laws’ interference. “My only hope is to borrow more money from the school. If not, I’ll have to take a leave of absence.”

“Unfortunately, you are already borrowing the maximum allowed,” said Dr. Markowitz. “We have limited resources in regard to student loans. We have to spread around what we have so everyone who needs support has access to it. I’m sorry.”

Adam stood up. “Well, I appreciate your time.”