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I really felt on the verge of some sort of major collapse.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked.
    “You’re
pregnant
? For real?”
    She nodded her head apologetically.
    “I just had breakfast with the perfect guy who turned out to be gay, and now I’m having dinner with the perfect lesbian who happens to be pregnant? I mean, somebody – anybody – cut me a break. You were supposed to make me feel better.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “About my choices. My man-free, childless life.”
    “Oops.”
    “Don’t you want to be with the father of your baby?”
    “Turns out I’d rather be with Gwyneth. But she’s moved on and I’m trying to do the same. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”
    “Forget it.”
    “I really am, Tracy.”
    “I’m okay – just give me a minute.”
    As she began chatting about environmentally friendly baby clothes and new age toddler camps, I came face to face with a new version of myself. I’d won some bizarre contest that was happening only in my head, and I was indeed the last woman standing. But I was forever standing on the outside, perpetually looking in. And my prize was a nice big bag of empty.
    “So I’m excited about all the organic stuff – especially the apples and pears.”
    Suddenly estrogen was the last thing I wanted to deal with. I wanted my fantasies back.
    “Can you just, like, morph into Johnny Depp?”
    “Pardon?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Are you sure you’re alright?”
    I put my head in my hands, “No, I’m not alright. Even
you’re
not reneging on your biology.”
    “It’s not like I was planning on getting pregnant.”
    “Just forget it.”
    “I think you need a stronger drink.”
    “I think it’s time for me to go home.”
    “Because I’m pregnant?”
    I shook my head like a spoiled child.
    “I’m sorry, Tracy. I’m clearly not turning out to be the person you wanted me to be.”
    “It’s just that I thought you might make me feel better about being an outsider. You know, someone who is comfortable not following the rules?”
    She tried to speak but I shushed her, “And now I discover that you’re
with child
!”
    “Have you maybe thought about therapy?” she asked.
    “No, but I think my throat is bleeding.”
    Anita watched as I put five fives on the table, picked up my paper plate of food, and walked out of the restaurant. I drove back to my room with less cash, but at least I’d reaffirmed my never-in-doubt heterosexuality.

chapter 6

    A FTER AN ENTIRE night of bizarre visions, I awoke in a very odd mood.
    My dreams had been filled with bisexual horses galloping through unknown galaxies, and pregnant lesbians were busy re-writing the English language – the word for God was now Utera.
    It was six o’clock, and I had seven minutes to get out the door – but Lucy was splayed across my chest. She was purring at me in the most comforting and unconditional loving sort of way. This was just exactly the kind of acceptance I needed right now. I could easily call in sick, but I knew there were countless others who’d be willing to take my place – those dreamers who’d practically beg to work for nothing if it gave them a chance to climb the Hollywood ladder.
    I scarfed down leftover mushy tacos at the sink, and put a Dodgers cap on my unwashed hair – nothing in me felt even remotely guilty as it seemed the appropriate attire for the character description known as
typical, unsuccessful ‘artist’
.
    Traffic wasn’t moving and the radio was still dead. The commute would give me time to wrap things up with McDreamy. I rewound the production and started at the beginning with Anita now co-starring as the woman rejected by the doctor, in favor of myself.
    My phone started vibrating just as he was leaning across the table with a tiny suede mahogany box (if I had to bite the bullet, this is how it would have to go down). I almost didn’t answer but assumed it was Sheila calling – since she usually calls when I’m jammed and helpless on the