whopping side of guacamole. She puts it in the center of the table, and Chloe feels a small primitive hunger panic at the back of her neck, inching her shoulders up. She picks up her fork.
“Damn, that looks good!” Debra grabs her fork and stabs into it from her side of the table.
Chloe takes a moment to swing the conversation. “Have your other pregnancies been healthy? Any problems?” She switches her fork to her left hand, still holding her pen to write an answer on the medical.
“There’s nothing wrong with my kids!”
“But you’re drinking during your pregnancy, which is known to be potentially—”
“And I’m doing crystal to keep my weight down too! I’ve done it before—they all turned out fine. And if this one don’t, it’s not my problem. Like I said, I would’ve got rid of it before if I could’ve.”
Chloe makes a note on the medical, her handwriting sloppy in her haste. Debra is tucking into the nachos, and Chloe puts the pen down to get a few bites in before they’re gone.
“But so how does the money thing work? I know with this other agency, they just cut us a check for ten grand, right off the bat, and it was good ’cause I just put us on a budget, and then after the baby, I took the kids down to Disneyland for a treat.”
“I can tell you right now, we aren’t buying babies. We don’t write checks for anything but regular expenses that are incurred during the pregnancy, and any reputable agency is doing the same.”
“But you’d still put enough in there so I could take the kids to Disney, right? I already told them.”
Chloe stands up. “I’m just going to go use the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”
Once in the stall, she calls Beverly back at the office. “Hey, it’s me. Can you pull the active files and check out prefs, let me know which parents will take prenatal meth and alcohol?” She can hear Judith in the background, asking who it is, and then her boss is on the line.
“Chloe? I thought you were at lunch with our new birth mother.” Judith has a voice like an aggressive, medium-size dog’s bark.
“Yes, I’m in the bathroom. She drinks and uses crystal meth, so I just asked Beverly to see who was accepting that before I show any portfolios.” I don’t want to make another mistake like the McAdoos, Chloe doesn’t say, but she knows they are both thinking of the message board crisis after Francie and John found out they’d been shown to and picked by multiracial birth parents when their preference was white.
“Don’t worry about that; who’ve you got with you?”
“I just brought our best three to show,” like you taught me, leave them wanting more. “I’ve got Brighton, Dunwoody, and Switzer.”
“I thought Switzer was coming over to our Marshall Islands program?”
“Their domestic home study is good for another month, so she said she wants me to keep her active until they get all their international paperwork done.”
“Is the baby Caucasian?”
Chloe is about to answer that it is, when she realizes that she doesn’t know about the father.
“Not sure, but I don’t think she’s ready to pick yet anyway. She seems sort of tenuous.”
“Get back out there and show them all, but tell her she can’t pick for sure until she’s seven months. And we’re not covering any expenses until six.”
“What if she falls in love with one of the families?”
Judith snorts. “We don’t have the Novas anymore; she won’t lock onto Brighton and Dunwoody, and I want Switzer to be our first Marshall Islands, so leave them out.” Chloe can hear pages turning. “I’m looking through the office copies right now—these are our Thoroughbreds? We should get Dunwoody to redo their portfolio, tell her to have some shots with her wearing some makeup. I’m all for natural, but she looks like she’s about to be embalmed. Brighton’s not bad. I’m going to call the Brightons right now and let them know their portfolio is being shown. Beverly saw Amanda Brighton on the Oregon Open Adoption board this morning talking up how many birth mothers she heard Catholic Charities has. Chosen Child hasn’t been mentioned in a week.”
“Bad press is better than no press?”
“Bring back Francie McAdoo—at least she was prolific! Jesus, look at Eugenia Switzer—does this woman know nothing about loose and flowing fabrics? I can actually see her cellulite through her pants in this one.”