can't we just pretend? - lani stanton.

[secondhand_stars]

Whether or not a morning was good was now based on a spectrum that started with Lani bounding downstairs at nine o'clock with a glass of juice -- no doubt forced upon her by a well-intentioned husband or mother-in-law -- in one hand and a newspaper tucked in the crook of the other. On the opposite end was a clock that ticked ever closer to ten o'clock and the sound of dry heaves and curses from the back bathroom of the office-space. Today was somewhere between as she wandered around the office in a state of undone. Pale, olive skin had a greenish cast save for the half-moons beneath her eyes were fatigue bruised. She didn't bother to conceal the minute imperfections upon her sharp-boned features. Instead, trudging mournfully to her desk, paper was sat down upon its surprisingly clean surface. No orange juice today.

Rich watched her steadily for a long moment and attempted to pick out what exactly seemed unfinished and crooked about the woman. Her hair was neatly smoothed and still damp from her morning shower. Her clothes, amazingly enough, matched and were well-coordinated. He paused at her center where trousers had been left undone at the top and zippered midway. She had paused there, defeated apparently. Smirking behind the curve of his palm, fingers smeared and tapped over the sharp slant of his nose. "Uh -- Lani?"

"Yeah?" She mumbled weakly as nausea was swallowed away.

"Busy morning?"

"Not really. I just got in. You were here before me?"

Seeped in literalism, the comment was lost to the faded woman. She blinked blankly at him for a moment before turning back to the paper. It was neatly pulled from protective plastic and straightened out. Stubbornly center popped up and edges curled back in. She sighed and flattened inky newsprint with palms.

"Your pants are unbuttoned, Mrs. Stanton," Rich said flatly.

"No shit," she called. Spine curling back, shoulders angled forward and she shifted her attention from the daily news to that subtle curve already beginning to round out otherwise sharp hips. At seven weeks, she was already measuring the size she had been at her second fitting with Lucy before the wedding. Fingers fluttered over the folded over band of her trousers and tugged the tails of her dress shirt lower. Fitted cotton stretched and rippled against the move.

"No shit," he repeated.

"I'm pregnant, Rich."

"Yeah?" He bowed his head to one side and squinted towards his partner. Behind the glare cast over lens, dark eyes centered upon her middle once again before flickering up to the ashen coloring of her face. "I figured as much. You were like this --" He trailed off then. No one liked to mention the miscarriage around the office. Instead, it was an unspoken fact. They moved on. They whitewashed over. "Congratulations Mama," he substituted.

"Thanks."

"...So, you're what? Four months?"

Her face fell mournfully.

"...Three?"

"Seven weeks," she wailed out.

At this moment, any smart person would quickly duck back behind the frosted partial wall that separated the relatively open work-space. They would bury themselves in work and later gift their colleague with a peace offering of morning bagel or a pack of gum. Instead, Rich laughed out and widened eyes. "Big baby," he murmured.

"Big babies," she corrected.

He paused at that, his expression falling. Whether it was surprise or sheer fright at the effect two children would have on the label was unknown. Dropping the pen that had ever so casually been looped between fingers back and forth onto his files, he busied himself with the length of his skinny tie and collar before arching up from chair. Rich cleared his throat and began to cross through the space towards the door. "I need a cigarette."

"Asshole," Lani laughed out at that.

[secondhand_stars]

I'm ten weeks pregnant. Neither are embryos anymore though they both are just an inch or so long and weigh less than an ounce. In three weeks, that number will double. The most critical portion of development is over. Now fetuses, their tissues and organs are rapidly growing and maturing. Everything is in place and starting to function to some degree, though they'll continue to develop throughout my pregnancy. By now, both babies' hearts should be almost completely developed. An opening in the atrium and the presence of a bypass valve diverts most of the blood away from the lungs as each are oxygenated through the placenta. Twenty tiny baby teeth are forming in gums. And this is the best part -- Both are busily swallowing amniotic fluid and kicking their legs!

My uterus is the over the size of a grapefruit now for those keeping track at home. I'm heading out of the first trimester, full speed ahead! That scary twelve-week mark looms, but I'm trying not to think of it too much. I'm healthy. The babies are healthy. I'm taking some medications to adjust my white blood cell count and to thin out my blood a little after a quick and uneventful trip to the hospital, but otherwise? Everything is perfect. It's sunshine and blue skies. It's all coming up roses.

Before I got pregnant, I was sure that as soon as I was (and was again) that I'd shout it from the rooftops and make a big spectacle over it. Yet, I've sort-of folded in on myself lately. I've become a shy thing that keeps to my home and family. After a couple of hours of work, I come upstairs and talk to Lizzy until Asher comes home. Then I help make dinner as much as he'll let me. Afterwards, we knit or watch television or read. It's so domestic and bookish. I'm not sure if I like it or not, but it's right for now. My morning sickness has more or less vanished. My energy levels are slowly, but surely rising. I've put on fifteen pounds. I walk around, too proud for maternity wear, with the waist of my pants rolled down and belly stretching out the front of t-shirts and sweaters.

I don't look pregnant. I look fat. My face is puffy and pale like the moon. I'm ready to look and feel pregnant in that good way that makes women continue to have lots of babies with no worries and no concerns. It's an idealized view of motherhood, but I want that. I'm used to idealized forms.

I can't really talk about it either There are too many questions that could be asked about how I know that I'm having twins so early or at least one girl. I don't know how to answer them either. Regardless of what I could say, I think everyone could brush it off with a charming laugh and pat on my arm. "Oh, that Lani Stanton and her imagination --"

[secondhand_stars]

Hello my darling boy!

I'm glad you're enjoying Spain! If I could ever possibly convince Asher to go back, I'll definitely insist that we take a trip after the babies are born. Maybe if I start working on him now, he'll be ready to give up and start packing by the time that your big, exciting North American tour is wrapping up! So, enjoy Paris. Rest up. See the sights. Buy more sweet little baby things with bitty booties and little buttoned sweaters for me to giggle and swoon over. Relax. Stop smoking as in... Right now, put down that cigarette and throw away your pack. When you get home, I'll have the studio space and a cup of throat coating tea for you because I want your album completed by the end of the summer. Fall means touring for you; babies for us. But! Enough shop talk...

You want to marry Michael. You want to become Mr. Harlen Donovan-Prior. You want him to take a frilly garter off your leg with his teeth. In public, for once. You want tears and custom wedding vows and two tiny sugar-Grooms on the top of a frosted cake (that Michael won't let you eat, but shit, I'll eat both our portions!) And Lucy and I will see that you have something appropriately trashy to lounge around in on said x-rated wedding night. I get to be your matron of honor and we have to arrange for Liv to catch the bouquet again. This time I think she'd actually hit someone. You, not me. I'm a mother now. Okay. Enough. Now that I've gotten all of the teasing out of the way...

I think it's great. I mean, really great. I'm so happy for you both. I mean, it's a total trip to think that you and Michael have settled down. I never really thought the day would come, but then all of the sudden, you're here and he's ridiculous for you. I used to think that marriage wouldn't change anything with Asher because we were already living together, but -- in a way, a really subtle almost transparent way, things did. Sure it's good to do it so that Michael can be there to make decisions for you when you're unable to and vice versa, but it's more than shared accounts and responsibility. When you get married, there's this entire new perception that takes over. It's really without description, but I think everyone should get married to someone they love at least once. And, to take lots and lots of honeymoon trips. When you get back, we'll look at my wedding books and go to the bookstore and read all the wedding magazines. Michael will come around. He always does.

We'll call and check in on you two in a few days -- if you haven't unplugged the phone like you two are wont to do. For shame, you guys! You're such animals, I swear.

Much love darling, and tell Michael that I said to marry you already. Either way, I want you to know that you're like a brother to me and if anything ever happened to Michael, I'd let you make his decisions for him. Stubbornness and resistance are only minor roadblocks, not a negation of what already is or whatever.

- L.

[secondhand_stars]

The Kid Stays in the Picture: Lani Stanton.
By Hamish Campbell.
Vinyl, July 2005

We recently sat down with one part of the dynamic duo behind this fall's most talked about label, Satellite Records. Lani Stanton, the daughter of James Donovan, was the heir apparent of her father's musical empire until last year she decided to break away and form her own independent label. In a year of change that included the signing of several new talents, a marriage to fellow Briton Asher Stanton, personal loss and triumph, she's shown the New York social scene and other hopefuls how it's done.

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Who was the first-ever group or artist signed to Satellite Records?
Liv Liddell. Her album will be coming out September First.

Labor Day. Speaking of, when are you due?
(a laugh.) Yeah, yeah. She'll be popping out instead of me that day. I'm due in early November.

With twins?
Yes, two girls.

That's wonderful.
I agree! Thanks!

Name me a band you wished you would have signed.
The Rolling Stones. Aside from job security, my brother would (deleted) a brick. Can I say that here? Sorry. Right. My brother has a huge thing for Mick Jagger. Mick, if you're reading this... Call me, baby. My brother is gorgeous.

You're twins also, right? How was it growing up in the music industry?
Yes. I am. As for growing up in the music industry... I don't think we really had any concept of it? It was like anyone who had a parent involved in business. There were lots of fun trips and time where my father was out of the country. The only time I really realized that my dad was high up was when he'd have dinner parties with all sorts of musical legends present. I remember being banned from singing Born in the USA one night because Bruce Springsteen was going to be at the party. Dad thought it was in bad taste.

A Boss fan, huh?
Nah. I just do a mean impression.

Tell us the single biggest lie you have ever heard about yourself.
That I'm only here because my dad is where he is.

Pete Doherty: slap on the wrist or slap on the back?
Let's start with a good, hot bath first.

You went through your own drug problems. Do you have any advice to offer?
Oh god. Where to begin? There's so many cliches, but when it all boils down to it... They're all true. It's not worth it. Anyone struggling with drug addiction should seek help. I'm really lucky that I had the support of some true friends.

Who is the sexiest man in pop?
Harlen Prior! You don't know who he is now, but just wait. Wow. Sexy man. I've had the distinct pleasure of seeing him naked. My brother is a very lucky man. That's all I have to say! He's also a fabulous dancer.

Have you ever used your star status to get someone into bed?
I'm a married woman and I'm sure my husband will be reading this so... No comment!

What's the best David Bowie song?
They're all epic. I'll go with Space Oddity though.

Who in the history of music is most overrated?
You're going to totally get me in trouble.

Should there be more politics in pop?
Only if honest and heartfelt. The whole pseudo-politico nonsense drives me nuts, you know? These people rail against capitalism and labels and then are on the next GAP ad-spread a year later. I love the GAP and all, but -- I think musicians owe it to their fans to present an accurate depiction of who they are. At least, the ones that want to be something approachable and everyman. The Ziggy Stardusts of the world? Rock.

Who would you get to play yourself in a biopic?
Biopic! Hot. Someone gorgeous and thin with a serious rack. Or Eddie Izzard did do some serious work in Velvet Goldmine...

Have you lied during the course of this interview?
No, but I have withheld answers. That doesn't count does it?

[secondhand_stars]

It wasn't the abrupt splash of amniotic fluid coating her legs and the tiled floor beneath her, but a slow trickle. Like a stopper having been pulled from its drain, something cut through her and all else followed in a slow, rolling progression. By now, she had become accustomed to all the aches and pains that came with end-stage pregnancy and the two bodies crammed just below her ribs. The past three weeks had been spent light-headed and flushed despite the chill that had begun to frost windows and bring up steam from the subways even more markedly. She had been downstairs, at her desk, when the first legitimate pains spiked out of the threatening, initial ones. Rather than call Asher and begin a dramatic mad dash to the hospital for a long wait, Lani continued to go over expense reports and the first wave of data from the tour -- or attempted to. Her pen thumped in time with her heart as mismatched eyes flickered around her office. What was her first, immediate response smoothed into an excuse. With a practiced care, fingers reached out to lift up telephone from dock and press a button on her speed dial. The phone rang twice, three times. On the fourth, a groggy voice cut through the electric pulse.

"Hello?"

"It's three-thirty... two," she added, as eyes squinted towards the time on the toolbar of her computer. "Are you still asleep?"

"Harlen came home last night," Michael yawned.

"Oh. So, you've been asleep all of an hour then. Sick. I hate you."

"Of all people, I would think that Asher would be into that whole... Madonna thing you've been doing for the past couple of months."

"Fuck you and come to lunch with me."

-

They met outside the cafe that stood in the shadow of their father's highrise. Each time they returned, things adopted a circular quality to them. They returned, so to speak, to their earliest memories of life in New York and away from what was now hazy scraps of childhood. Lani arrived, wisely, by taxicab. At the sight of her bloated pretty face capped off by its usual mess of dark hair, Michael stabbed out his cigarette in one of the receptacles outside. Free fingers curled in recognition of her.

Together, they walked through the barebones jungle of the patio seating that had been closed down for the cold months of the year. Chairs had been stored away leaving the skinny rails and boltwork of tables and naked umbrella beams to the elements alone. Like Hansel and Gretel, their hands were tightly folded together with his knuckles gripping over hers and her cheek pressed to the shoulder of his coat. His smell was an odd comfort, predating all past and current ones.

Between the front door and their usual table tucked into the back, another contraction gripped her. The roundness of her belly tightened curiously before pain radiated out from spine and rolled beneath the bowl of her pelvis. Steps paused midway and her knees turned in. Grimacing, Lani peered at Michael through one eye as the other squeezed down. The look was comical enough that he snickered once. Fingers rumpled through the tangled back of her hair.

"You know --" He began, eyes narrowing in at their table. "I hate having people bring up things that I don't care much to talk of. In fact the more people persist, the more irritated I become. So, we won't talk but you have to promise me that you won't have a baby in the cafe."

"Promise," she said through her teeth.

Michael knew that the best thing to do at this moment would be to call his brother-in-law and have him pick up Lani from the cafe. The hospital was a ten minute drive from here. He was more than aware of how problematic it would be if Asher missed anything. Despite all this, he adopted his usual stance of ignorance and led Lani to their table. She sat gingerly at the edge of her seat with legs neatly crossed at swollen ankles and hands cupping the roundness of her belly. Perspiring, beads of sweat began to dampen her temples and just above her lip. Wiping just beneath her nose, she offered a shadowed smile.

"Stop looking at me as if I'm going to have an alien explode from my belly."

He lifted his hands up in the air in a lukewarm defense. "I wasn't. I was just thinking..."

"Of what?"

"Of how -- I -- No, it's silly." He shook his head and busied hands with the menu. Unfolding the leatherbound cardboard frame, he studied the specials with a particular care and interest. "Are you excited?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I --" Her expression crumpled slowly. Pressing her elbows into the white tablecloth, her chin dipped forward and cheeks pressed into palms. She hid herself away and hissed a nervous breath against wrists. From across the table, Michael watched and felt his stomach dip and flutter in time with hers. The quiver of her bottom lip rocked him with a curious strength. Lani gasped in a breath, steeling herself with a brave smile and tip of her chin. "What were you thinking?"

"You look beautiful."

Lani rolled her eyes.

"Fine. I was lying. You look absolutely terrified." Michael supplied her with the truth in his careless way and smiled. A hand lifted to rake back the shaggy ends of his hair. He watched her choke with a soundless laugh. Rolling his eyes as she flashed him her middle finger, he bowed forward and pressed a fist beneath his chin. "I was thinking maybe I want to have one.."

"Of my babies?"

"No. Of my own."

Lani blinked, as if he had spoken another language lost to her. Attempting to comprehend his casual, seemingly thoughtless remark, a hand lifted to press against her temple. "Oh -- well, Michael?" At a loss, she descended back into her befuddled silence. Silverware was shifted around the plate that he knew she'd never use. "Why?"

"It came to me in a dream," he said in the most simple, but dry way possible. He felt her confusion mount and become folded in with suspicion. Brows furrowed as she blinked at him once more. "Literally."

"Wow --" She said paling save for the two feverish spots of red on her cheeks.

A quiet awkwardness wedged unspoken between them. Michael shifted in his seat and watched as Lani tested the shake of her hands with a water goblet. From the lip of the glass, water sloshed over and ran in rivulets down the line of her knuckles. She sipped cautiously, still staring at him. "I was just kidding, Lani," he mumbled against his own knuckles.

"Oh, okay -- I think I'm ready to go to the hospital now."

"I'll call Asher."

"No, let me." She said as the thumb began dialing in her husband's number.

-

The hospital was a world filled with the electro-beeps of monitors and white. Like astronauts, the doctor and staff flooded in and out of the delivery room with an airy grace to their green smocked bodies. She watched the papery folds of their robes float in and out of the swinging doors. The sheets scratched beneath her skin as body transitioned and the pressure that had begun as a pinprick in her pelvis cracked open into a painful gash. She gasped through contractions and the collective heat of the room made her feel as if she were underwater. These were the details that would be remembered long after the fact. Physical pain and the ripping open of her body was secondary.

Harper was born first. A slippery, well-formed thing she seemed to glide out and into the capable hands of the doctor. Lani watched, hazy and in disbelieving awe, as the baby let out a faint whine at the fingers that nudged a pink cap over her wet head. The sounds of her discontent and confusion were quickly remedied by a blanket and the waiting arms of Asher. She reached out for the soft flannel corner of the covering, but fell short of touching it. The baby's face was a blur, mostly lost in the haze of a new contraction. Yet, she still managed out two slits for eyes and the healthy roundness of rosy cheeks and a tiny knot of a mouth.

In the same two minutes that it took Michael to be born nearly twenty-eight years ago, Ava came later. The short span of seconds stretched out into an impossible waiting as she used up the last of her resources to birth the baby that would come out scrawny and ferocious. Lifted from the womb for display, the tiny girl refused to howl. Instead, she grew more red and disturbed by the entire spectacle. It took coaxing and several suspended moments for an angry wail to tear from her chest. Struck by an odd love for the pitiful infant, Lani reached out for her with snapping fingers. Once in her arms, the crookedly placed cap upon her head was removed and fingertips nudged along the matted dark mess of her hair. Both mother and child burst into hysterical tears. Caged in by the arm of husband and father respectively, each lost exact memory of the time that would follow in recovery.