Leap Year by Peter Cameron Read Free Book Online Page A

past she had forked over exorbitant sums of money to become that privileged thing—a member—only to discover that once she could have it all, do it all, see it all, it all lost its allure. No, never join, Lillian realized. Keep moving, like a shark. Move from free-trial class to free-trial membership, from Nautilus to free weights, from low-impact to top-volume.
    Tonight she had talked Loren into a free-trial aerobics class at Tomorrow’s Bodies, a New Age fitness salon. The class was very strange. It involved guttural chanting and a lot of sitting perfectly still but visualizing yourself in hysterical motion. This was called telekinetic exercise.
    “Well, that’s my kind of exercise,” said Lillian, après, in the locker room. “Except when we were supposed to touch each other. That was gross.”
    “That was the stupidest thing I’ve done in ages,” said Loren. “It was a complete waste of time.”
    “I don’t know,” said Lillian. “I feel kind of revitalized. Maybe you weren’t visualizing enough.”
    “It was bullshit,” said Loren.
    “All that telekinetic exercise has made me hungry,” said Lillian. “Do you have to go home? Do you want to get something to eat?”
    “Sure,” said Loren. “Gregory’s still in L.A.”
    They found a Japanese restaurant on Second Avenue and were seated next to an attractive, older couple. “Would you like something to drink?” their waiter asked.
    “Do you want to split one of those big bottles of Sapporo?” Loren asked Lillian.
    “No thanks,” said Lillian. “I’m not drinking anymore.”
    “Really?” asked Loren. “Why?”
    Lillian smiled mysteriously and ordered a seltzer. Loren ordered a Kirin Light. The woman at the table next to them was berating her companion. She was saying, “I’m not trying to tell you ‘I told you so.’ I’m trying to tell you to listen to me. Listen to me. You need help. You need professional, all-American, Grade A help.”
    “So what’s going on?” asked Loren. “Why aren’t you drinking?”
    “Guess,” said Lillian.
    Loren looked at her friend. In the warm benevolent light of the restaurant she looked…well, not beautiful, but something better: happy. Loren studied her face and tried to decide how that happiness was manifested. It was in Lillian’s eyes, which were alive with light; the skin around them was taut with glee. Her whole face seemed poised on the brink of a smile, on the lovely verge of laughter. Loren thought, When was the last time I saw Lillian look like this? She could not remember when.
    “Smile,” said Loren, smiling herself. Lillian smiled, and Loren leaned across the table and kissed her cheek, and when she leaned back there were tears sparkling in Lillian’s eyes, magnifying the light there.
    “You’re going to have a baby,” said Loren. It was a statement, not a question.
    “Yes,” said Lillian. “At least, I hope so. I don’t think I’m pregnant yet. But if everything works, I should be…soon.”
    “So you’re going through with the sperm bank thing?”
    “Yes,” said Lillian.
    “When did you decide?” Loren asked.
    “A while ago. It was because of David.”
    “David? Why?”
    “I told him I wanted to change my life, and he told me to change it. He made it sound so simple. And it was, once I decided.”
    Their beverages were delivered.
    “Can’t you have a little beer?” asked Loren. “Just a little, to celebrate. A little beer can’t hurt.” She poured some beer into two gold-rimmed glasses, gave one to Lillian, and raised the other. “To you,” Loren said, “and to your baby.”
    For a second Lillian looked doubtful, as if Loren’s toast were in some foreign language, then she raised her glass and touched it to Loren’s, and they kept the glasses touching there, in the air between them, pressed tightly and hopefully together.
    Loren caught an express train and walked home to Greene Street from Union Square. It was a nice night, and Broadway was thronged