CHAPTER 23

Curtis rang the bell beside a heavy glass-paned oak door and saw a figure approaching down a well-lit hall.

“You must be my new law school students,” she greeted them. “Come in, come in and make yourselves at home.”

“I’m Curtis Matthews and this is Bob Sato, Mrs. Lockett.”

Curtis thought Mrs. Lockett might be about sixty years old. She was a round-faced woman of medium height and weight. Her bright smile, sparkling brown eyes and tawny skin tones made him think of a typical grandmother.

She led them into the living room.

“Let’s sit down and get acquainted,” she said, “and I can tell you about my home.”

Both men made appropriate remarks as they settled themselves on a comfortable sofa. Mrs. Lockett stood facing them.

“May I offer you a cold drink, ice tea, lemonade, ginger ale?”

“Thanks, but we’ve just had lunch,” Curtis told her, but looked over at Bob, who shook his head. “No thanks, ma’am.”

“It would be no problem,” she persisted.

“Well, in that case, lemonade sounds good. Bob?”

“Right. Thanks, ma’am.”

“Be right back.”

Within minutes she returned with a wooden tray with three tall glasses of lemonade, napkins and a plate of assorted cookies.

As she entered the room, Bob went over to her.

“Let me take that, Mrs. Lockett.”

“Fine, Bob, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please put it on the coffee table and you both help yourselves,” she said and smiled.

But Bob brought a glass and a napkin to her before sitting down on the sofa with his own glass and napkin. He had selected a few cookies as well.

“I expect you young men would like to see the apartment. But let me tell you about my home. My husband and I bought this house about thirty years ago and opened it as a bed and breakfast. As you can well imagine, Cambridge is a college town and we have had many guests, parents bringing their children to college, and then returning for their graduation. Each room has its own bathroom, and breakfast is always served ‘do it yourself’ style from six a.m. to nine-thirty a.m. You know, plenty of hot coffee, cereal, doughnuts, muffins, toast, fresh fruit in season, that sort of fare. But on Sundays I serve a brunch-style breakfast from nine to eleven for people who signed up on Saturday evening.”

“Sounds good to me,” Curtis said, “especially the brunch.”

“But I expect, from what you said on the phone, you want to see the apartment.”

They nodded and she continued.

“I’ve set up the third floor, a large attic, as a two bedroom and bath apartment with a small kitchen. Also, there is a back flight of stairs with a key-entry steel door. It faces an alley, and that’s why we installed the protective door. Of course you may use the front entrance if you wish. I will give you keys for that door.”

She went to a desk in the corner of the living room and returned with a manila folder. “I’ll give each of you a copy of this set of rules when you sign your lease. I do have a few: no smoking, no drinking, no parties or overnight guests…of either sex. And there will be a lease signed by each of you with the rent being $1,300 each, with $500 security deposit from each of you. The rent is payable on the first of each month.”

“Sounds good to me,” Curtis said.

“Would you like to see it?” she asked.

“Yes, we would.” Bob gathered the empty glasses and placed them on the tray.

“Shall I take these to the kitchen?”

“Oh, no, son. Leave the tray. I’ll get it later. Want you to see where you’ll be living while you wrestle with those big old law books.”

* * *

“You know, Curtis, I’m glad that we have this apartment, because I need to have a stable place to live because I do have regular appointments I have to keep, and I need a place where I can relax and chill out.”

“What do you mean, ‘regular appointments’? Are you sick? Need treatments?”

Bob shook his head. “No, nothing like that, thank God, but—” He got up, put both of their empty plates into the kitchen sink, returned to his seat.

Curtis noticed the sober look on Bob’s usually smiling, cheerful face. He thought, This must be something serious.

“Remember when we were talking about earning money?”

“Yeah, I remember. So?”

“Well, most of the money I earned while was a student at Tufts was as a donor…”

“You mean a blood donor?”

Bob did not answer right away, as if to steel himself for Curtis’s reaction. “No, not blood, but I help women have babies…”

“God, man! What are you talkin’ ’bout? Help women? Are you shittin’ me?”

“I donate sperm to sperm banks.”

“I’ll be damned! And you get paid for…for doin’ that?”

“I’m very well paid for a few minutes of my time. You know, Curtis, there are a lot of women who want to have children but for some reason or another have not been able to find a male partner. So along with many other men, twice a week for six months I provide semen. I’m paid anywhere from $1,000 to $1,500 a week.”

“Man! How did you ever get into this?”

“One of my classmates…”

“Man, oh, man, that’s something else!”

“Of course I have to pay taxes. And Curtis, my friend, when I get my law degree, my earnings will be much higher.”

“And women are willing to pay…”

“You’d be surprised. The American Fertility Association says that more and more women are using this service. The numbers say it is a growing field, overall.”

“So how long have you been—donating?”

“Past two years.”