Scrambled Babies (24 page)

“Right.  Yes, see you later, Maddy.”

Paeton stepped in front of him to open the door.  “Saturday.  Eight.” 

“Saturday, eight,” Steve echoed.

She wished he would leave before she kissed him.  Kissing Steve Kaselman seemed exactly the right thing to do at that moment.

Finally, he started backing slowly out of the open door.  “Saturday.  Eight o’clock.  See you, Paeton.”

She found herself waving weakly.  She closed the door.  What had she done?  She was going on a date with a man who had recently broken her heart.  She realized she could do something about losing the house.  But was there anything she could do about Steve Kaselman?

#

Ring!

It was the Thursday night before her Saturday night dinner date with Steve.  “Hello?”

“Paeton, Steve.  Turn to channel seven.  I think your troubles are getting worse.  There’s some damn TV show about National Single Mom of the Year.  We’ll talk later.  Saturday definitely, sooner if you want.  Call your agent too.  I can’t believe people are making such a big deal out of a simple mistake.”

“Okay.  Thanks.”  She paused.  “Yes, I’d love to talk to you later.”  She hung up pensively.  It was true.  She did want to talk to Steve—before Saturday night.  And after Saturday night.  And—

Paeton had been watching a movie based on a romance novel, trying to analyze how four hundred pages get reduced to two hours.  She flipped to channel seven.  “This Could Hurt” was one of the hundreds of sensationalistic TV news magazines now blighting the airwaves.  She sat down to watch.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to ‘This Could Hurt,’ the TV news magazine that focuses on the grave consequences of grossly negligent human behavior.  I’m Lois Conover, Ph. D. in abnormal psychology and columnist for the
Los Angeles
Herald.
  Tonight we are going to explore the behavior and psychology of three individuals: a woman who can’t recognize her own child of three months, a man who commits robberies in his sleep, and a boy and his dog who bully their neighborhood.  First, these messages from TidyDipy, the diaper that clings like your baby’s own skin.”

Paeton was incredulous.  That was the diaper company that had begged her to enter the National Single Mom of the Year competition.  Now they were singling her out as an unloving mother?  She was never called, never interviewed.  Nothing!

“Now to our first story for this evening.  Here is the amazing, sad but true story of a famous woman who mistakes another child for her own flesh and blood.  On the fourth of August of this year, Paeton McPhilomy, author of the best-seller
The Sky Streaks of Black,
boarded a jetliner and soared across the skies with a tiny baby who wasn’t hers.  She had no idea it wasn’t her baby until this infant child needed to be changed.  What makes this hurt, and hurt badly, is that this woman is a candidate for National Single Mom of the Year.  An award revered throughout the nation—that is, until now.  And now America is asking:  Should Ms. McPhilomy have the right to compete with the truly loving moms of this great nation?”

Paeton sat frozen in horror!  She began to regret the success that had struck her and left her as a sitting duck for the media.

“I have with me tonight, live from a power-pole site in Wichita, Kansas, Esther Kavaleski, this year’s reigning National Single Mom of the Year.  Besides being a single mom, Esther is a pole-climber for Kansas Power and Light.  Hi, Esther.  Isn’t it kind of late for you to be climbing up electric poles?”

“Hi, Lois.  No, like, it’s my job.  We single moms have to work when we’re needed, Lois.  Part of the job of being a single mom, ya know.”

“I know you have a young child of a year, Esther.  Where is your baby?”

Esther stepped back to reveal her child suspended against her chest in some kind of carrier.  “Right here, Lois.  Like, Pamela Sue is always with me, ya know.”

“Even when you’re climbing?”

“Even when I’m climbing.  Safest place to be, ya know.”

“Where’s your husband, Esther?”

“Like, he’s dead, Lois.  Got electrocuted climbing a pole about six months ago.   Sheer carelessness on his part.  That’s how I got this job.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

“Yep, stepped right up and took his place. Darn nice of old KP&L to give me the job.  And, like, I’m not careless.”

“Yes, right.  Uh, you have an opinion about the Paeton McPhilomy story?”

“I do, Lois.  Like, here it is plain and simple because that’s the kind of mother I am, not fancy, ya know.  Paeton McPhilomy, and I hope you’re listening.”  And she paused as the camera reduced her to a talking head.  “Like, how could you not recognize your own flesh and blood?  I mean, there is no way little Pamela Sue and me could ever not know who the other was. I could never walk off with another kid.  So, like, I am taking this opportunity to publicly ask Paeton McPhilomy to withdraw from the National Single Mom of the Year competition.  Because honestly, I don’t think I could ever feel in my heart that she is the best single mom in this great U.S. of A.  And, like, that’s the way I feel.”  Esther walked away from the camera and stood next to the power pole.  “Well, have to get back to work.  Bye, everybody.”

Esther waved, stuck one foot on the pole, and began her ascent.  She disappeared up the pole out of range of the TV lights. 

“Well, thank you, Esther Kavaleski, reigning National Single Mom of the Year.  And at the end of this program, we’ll see how the rest of the country feels about whether Paeton McPhilomy should be in the competition.  At any time during the rest of this show, simply text to “M-O-M,” “mom,” and text the number one for ‘yes,’ she should withdraw, and two if she should stay in the competition.  We’ll have the results for you at the end of tonight’s edition of ‘This Could Hurt.’  Now, another important message from the diaper that says to your baby, ‘I’m always on your side,’ TidyDipy.”

Paeton angrily punched the remote-control “off” button to silence the blather
.  The nation is voting on whether I should stay in the competition?  After the sponsors begged me to enter?
  Withdraw from the competition?  Paeton wished she could withdraw from the world!  Her life was being turned upside down.  She was being unabashedly used to make money for the media creeps and their sponsors.  Fame!  She remembered she used to feel sorry for celebrities who were mugged on the covers of gaudy tabloids.  Now, was anyone feeling sorry for her?  The outrage she felt made her ill.  It would be so nice to talk to some understanding person.  Someone she could trust.

Ring!

Could that be Steve?
  Could she trust Steve?  Maybe he felt the same way as Esther Kowalski or whatever her awful name was.  Maybe she shouldn’t answer it.  She had lost her privacy, now was she losing her courage?  She knew she loved her child as much as any other mother loved hers.  No one who hadn’t been there could ever know how easily the baby-exchange could have occurred.  Bumping into Steve.  The fatal gaze.  The scurry to retrieve the childseat. 

Ring! 

“Hello?”

“You okay?”  It was Steve.  A warm, safe feeling came over her.  Maybe they should get together before Saturday night.  Maybe he could come over right now.  Madison was asleep. 

“Hello?  Paeton?  You there?”

“Yes, Steve, I’m here.  A little stunned is all.  You know, TidyDipy begged me to compete.  I really don’t like stuff  like that.  I mean, I never wanted to enter a beauty pageant or anything.  I’m mad as hell, actually.”

“Yeah, me too.”

There was a weighty silence.

Steve spoke.  “Uh, Greta’s still here.  She can stay with Ryan.  Want to talk?  I can come up.  It’s three floors, remember?”

She did want to see Steve.  Simply to talk about the show?  Or did she just want to see him?  “No, it’s okay.  I have some rewriting to do, and—”  The thought of Steve coming to her room increased her temperature several degrees.

“You sure?  There’s a great ice cream place, Hollywood’s Dream Cream, about a block away.  I could pop down there and get some butter pecan or whatever, and we could, I don’t know, talk, let out some bad stuff.  That was some upsetting show.”

Seeing Steve might be the best thing for me right now.
Steve was real and solid.  Maybe he could offer some stability in her shaky world.  He wasn’t the insensitive jock she thought he would turn out to be.  He liked
Through the Looking-Glass,
for heaven’s sake.  And he changed his, actually her, baby in front of god and everyone.  She couldn’t think of any reason it could hurt to talk to him.  They had a date on Saturday anyway.  Maybe that date would be easier if they talked now.  And she did want to vent.  She was really furious and frustrated.

“Oh, hell, butter pecan sounds good right now.  You sure it’s okay?  Don’t you have to get up and do some morning sports show or something?”

“Great.  Great.  Be up in a few.” 

Hmmm!
  She lowered the phone to its cradle.  Then she panicked.  She was in her sweats, no makeup—
yipe!
 

She charged into her bedroom to assault her closet.  She began rifling through her dresses when she realized there was no way she could change, put on her face, and be ready in the time it took to pack up a quart of ice cream and walk a block.  She flopped backward on the bed and began laughing.  Well, Steve wanted to see her.  Then he would see her.  Not dressed for a party.  Then if he didn’t call off Saturday night, maybe she—

#

Steve strode excitedly, but with some reservation, up the hallway to Paeton’s suite.  He had seen his reflection in the ice cream parlor mirror and was irritated that he hadn’t shaved. He also could have used a haircut.  But it was too late now.  She had accepted his offer, and there was nothing stopping him.  He had once heard that stubble was sexy; he hoped Paeton thought so.

He had picked up butter pecan and two spoons.  One would have been his choice.  Then they would have to feed ice cream to each other.  That vision stimulated a wonderful male ache.

Knock, knock!

Paeton opened the door. 

“Hi, Paeton.” 
Wow, she’s gorgeous even without makeup!

“Hi.” 

The furrow in her brow troubled him. 
Is she still pissed at me about the Alice house, or is she worried about the TV show?

She stepped back to let him in.  “Thanks for offering to come over.  That show was really unnerving.  I guess I do need to talk to somebody.  The funny thing is my only real friend besides Fred, and he’s not available, is my keyboard.  I never was the girls-night-out type.”

“Well, if you’ll let me, I’ll be seeing a lot more of you.  Yes.  That show sure laid it on.”  He held out the ice cream.

Paeton’s forehead relaxed.  “Oh, great.  Ice cream is my downfall.”

Steve checked out her figure very blatantly.  “Right!  I can see your body is suffering.”

Paeton blushed and laughed quietly.  “Don’t kid me.  These sweats hide all sins.  Besides, I make it a rule to eat ice cream only when someone else buys.”

Steve mused with her.  “Good idea.”  He patted his stomach.  “Maybe I should embrace that credo.”

Paeton led them to the table where they sat down, opened the ice cream, and took out two spoons.

Steve started the conversation.  “Well, back to the problem at hand.  First the article, now the TV show.  You’re getting it worse than I am.”

“All I know is that my skin isn’t thick enough for this kind of publicity.”  Paeton’s forehead crinkled up again.