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DANI SHAPIRO SPARED NO EFFORT OR EXPENSE IN HER QUEST TO FIND THE PERFECT EGG DONOR?ONE WITH HER INTELLECT, HER LOOKS, EVEN HER FEELINGS. BUT THEN THEY MET, AND SHE REALIZED THAT EVEN THE FINEST REPRODUCTIONS STILL AREN'T THE REAL THING
The palm-filled lobby of Shutters on the Beach, an upscale hotel perched on the edge of the Pacific Ocean in Santa Monica, is a good spot for a blind date. With overstuffed chairs and sofas grouped around low coffee tables, and fireplaces blazing in the middle of a hot California afternoon, Shutters is a place where you can sit and talk, and no one will notice you or care.
I've chosen a table near some drinking Europeans, with a clear view across the lobby to the front doors. I'm early, anxious. A Fred Segal shopping bag containing a gaily wrapped gift is at my feet. Only a few people in the world know I'm here. It feels as if I'm waiting to do something illicit?something involving sex or drugs. Which, in a way, I suppose I am.
A tall blond in a white pantsuit walks in, preceded by two chihuahuas straining on their leashes. Not her. A trio of young women in jeans and tailored jackets?Hollywood development-girl types?scan the room for a table. Not her, not her, not her.
Finally?at exactly three-thirty, our appointed time?a slight woman in jeans, a pink T-shirt, and a blazer walks into the lobby. I recognize her instantly. She's looking for me, too, though I have the advantage. She hasn't seen my photograph. She has no idea what I look like, though she'd be correct in assuming that I am probably similar to her in build and coloring?an older version.
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