"Nothing, only it's done nowadays. Edna said so, and Maude said so. If you get what they call prenatal care, you fix it so that you run hardly any chance at all of an accident. See, the doctor looks at you often all through the months, and he can see how you're getting along. He tells you just what to do and all. He puts you on a good diet and everything, see. And he can hear the baby's heart beat, and he can tell how the baby's getting along, too. If we spend a lot of money on this thing we don't want a dead baby, do we?" Dot giggled a little. Those were awful words. Dead baby. You had to laugh a little to help say them.
"What the hell are you always laughing at?" asked Eddie.
Funny he hadn't thought of that before. Some babies didn't live. They came here without the necessary spark that would make them into little fellows that would get into fights in the back lot. How did a person stand it if, after months of hoping and imagining things about him, the little thing just arrived and disappeared without ever having let you hear him say "Daddy."
"I ain't always laughing," said Dot. "I ain't got so much to laugh about. What do you think about getting a doctor?"
"Sure, get one. If everybody else has them, I suppose you ought to."
"It's awful expensive," said Dot.
"How much?"
"Two hundred dollars."
"Are you kidding?"
"No."
Eddie got up and went over to the chiffonier for a cigarette. "Jeeze, that's a lot of money," he said.
"Yes," Dot agreed, "it is. Some doctors do it a lot cheaper, but I am thinking of a certain doctor."
