Scrambled Babies (41 page)

She left Paeton and walked around behind Steve.  She put her hands on his shoulders.  “And Steve.  A single father. America’s Mr. Mom for a while, and I hope, soon to be again.  I can’t be in your head either.  But I think my show will solve your dilemma—that is, if you are the parents I think you are.”

Fred jumped in as Royale resumed her seat.  “Exactly how do you see this show presented, Royale?”

“Well, first it has to be fun.”  Paeton could tell how Royale’s mind was working.  This was her business—entertaining TV audiences.  Paeton didn’t relish the prospect of failing in front of a gawking world. How much would the pressure, the lights, the general disorientation, affect her ability to function?

She glanced Steve’s way.  She wondered if he was thinking the same thing.  She let their eyes touch for a fleeting moment.  Instant heat! 
Not a good idea, Paeto
n!  She heard Royale addressing her.

“—would you be amenable to that, Paeton?”

Royale had been talking to her.  She popped a quick glance at Fred, who was nodding her a “say-yes.”  “Yes, fine with me,” she blurted out.

“And Steve, you can be here that day as well?  And if we have time, you don’t mind calls from viewers?”  Royale winked a smile at him.  “There are a lot of women out there who would love to find out if you’re available.  You know, you and Paeton seemed to be an item there for a while.  Can you face those kinds of questions?”

“No problem, Royale.  I can handle anything.”  He was checking his calendar.  “I have a meeting with the network that day, but it should be over in time to make the show.”

An item.  What is an item?
It sounded like something with a price tag on it in a shop window.  What were they worth as an item?  And items broke when you played with them.  Items didn’t last.  They were found years later in an attic somewhere, still in pieces.  Paeton’s mission in coming back to face Steve was to determine if what they had together amounted to nothing more than an item.

Paeton felt a pair of eyes requesting a response.  She focused her mind to see Royale looking directly at her.  She again had missed the first part of the TV star’s remarks. 

“As I was saying, Paeton, you can’t fake this one!  This is reality television.  No tape to be edited.  No words or gestures can be erased.  Whatever you two do and say—well, it’s out there.  And it will be out there forever.”  She paused.  “Do you understand?  The way I have this show set up, you can convince the world you are the best parents in the world, or you can fall, not just on your face, but clear to the bottom of the deepest well you can imagine!”

She turned to Steve again.  “Steve, are you certain you want to do this?  This will be second overtime, last play of the game—and you have to call the winning or the losing play.  Okay with you?”

“Yes!  I want to do this.”  Steve stared at Paeton. 

Those damned eyes!
  Paeton forced herself to stay unmoved.  Why must she always be on the brink of something?  Would there ever again be a time when life was easy?

Paeton felt Royale’s eyes on her again.  She knew it was her turn to commit.  “Paeton.  You are your own heroine.  Your choice will bring complete disaster or total success.  Do you want this final chapter written?”

Paeton sat up straighter.  “Absolutely.”  Her voice came out strong and clear.

Royale flashed her world-famous smile and pushed her chair back.  “Great!  Congratulations, Paeton and Steve.  We have one week until the show.  I believe in you.  I believe you are about to show the world you are the best, not only as parents but in every respect.”

Fred was all smiles.  “Thank you, Royale.”  He whispered in Paeton’s ear.  “She’s on our side, kid.  We’ll be back in the ballgame soon.”

“No sports analogies, okay, Fred?”

“Uh, sorry.”

Royale closed the meeting.  “That’s it, folks!  Thank you for coming.  We have a week for publicity, then it’s show time!”  Royale rose and schmoozed around the room, shaking everyone’s hand.

Paeton didn’t stand up immediately.  The situation was still difficult to comprehend.  Was she really doing a reality TV show to prove she knew her own child?  Apparently she was.  Did she deserve this possible humiliation for giving in to that one magic moment, when nothing else mattered?  Apparently she did.  And now Fate, in the form of Steedly Black, was giving her a chance to make amends for that one lapse into sublimity.

As she left the meeting, only half listening to Fred’s voice, she pondered the big question: 
If she could turn back the clock and never have bumped into Steve Kaselman, would she want to?  Then, of course, there was the bigger question:  Where Steve Kaselman was concerned, did she ever really have any choice?

Chapter 15

Paeton sat in the waiting room with Rosa, Madison, and Kelsey.  Fred was out of town but would be watching the show from Atlanta.  In a few minutes she would be served up to the “wolf pack” on Royale’s show.  Steve and Ryan hadn’t arrived yet.  Steedly Black was in a separate room at Paeton’s request.

Paeton was contending with all the symptoms of stage fright—nervous stomach, sweaty palms, cotton mouth.  The only times she had been on live national television were for book interviews.  Those interviews were controlled, each a one-on-one exchange with someone who liked her and appreciated her writing talent.

Appearing on
The RoyaleShow
was different:  Paeton would be facing a new audience—one that was out to get her.  This audience was the wolf pack.  Its members got their strength from being part of a group.  They were judgmental, feeding on people’s misery and mistakes.  Reveling in people’s tears and anguish.  She had occasionally seen such TV audiences while riding an exercise bike at her athletic club.  The wolves were self-righteous.  They were vindictive.  They were vicious.  And today they would be hungrily encircling Paeton, waiting to see if she could pass muster as a mother.  And if she couldn’t—!

Royale had outlined the basics of the show:  The babies would be in the famous Zoo Kingdom travelseats with matching blankets, dressed exactly as they had been that life-changing day at JFK.  Steve and Paeton would carry the babies onstage and put each on a table on either side of the stage.  Then they would take seats in the center of the stage.  Black would join them after they were seated.  After some introductory remarks from Royale, Steve, Paeton, and Black would be ushered offstage.  During their absence, an assistant would switch or not switch the infants.  The three would return to the stage and be directed to one of the babies.  They would write on a card the child’s name, or in Black’s case, the gender, keeping the answer hidden from the others.  Then the true identity of the baby in question would be revealed to the audience, and the fate of each of the three would be sealed—hero or bum.  Royale had mentioned she had a few other “fun” secrets up her sleeve, but she wanted unprepared responses from her guests.

“Are you all right, Paeton?”
God bless Rosa!
  She always seemed to be aware of Paeton’s mood.  “Can I get you some water?”

Paeton nodded.

Rosa
poured from an iced carafe and handed the glass to her.

As the liquid reached her lips, Paeton realized how dry her mouth was.  “Thank you, Rosa.  Yes, I’m fine.”

In truth, nothing was fine.  She was having no luck calming her stage fright.  Fred wasn’t there.  Steve wasn’t there.  She felt she had made no progress in resolving any of the many questions that had befallen her since that fateful day at JFK International.

Nevertheless, through her anxiety, she was convinced that she could not mistake Ryan for Kelsey during the show even in the dizzying atmosphere of blinding lights, hovering audience, and huge stakes.

But the possibility of making a mistake made her skin crawl.  Could the lights blur her vision?  Could fear cloud her instincts?  Cause some weird doubt that would make her choose the opposite of what she knew was fact? What if she did choose incorrectly?  She shuddered at the thought.  Her temples throbbed unmercifully.

And what about Steve?  She had to laugh ironically to herself.  As always, her thoughts involuntarily turned to him.  Wherever he was right now, was he fighting the same fears?  She knew she couldn’t ask him.  That would reveal her doubts to him.  But the possibility that he might be having similar fears made her feel connected to him.  She liked that connected feeling.  She could no longer deny a lifelong natural connection to Steve Kaselman.  No matter the consequences.

Her feelings could never be erased from her heart.  Their connection was one of those inexplicable mysteries.  Because notwithstanding all the doubt and frustration their relationship had engendered, she did believe she loved Steve.  And she believed he loved her.

They had made love that one magical time.  That Camelot. Only to have her heart run through the next morning with the sword of Steve’s apparent accusation.

Now Paeton longed for another lovemaking that would bring on another lovemaking and another and another—but—

But wasn’t it hopeless?  Wouldn’t Black always be a vengeful reporter who would never give them peace?  Wouldn’t Steve always be another unreliable jock who would never give in to marriage?  And wouldn’t the “Paeton + Steve” graffiti heart at JFK eventually be painted over by a coat of time?  But Paeton knew there was no coat of any kind that could ever entirely hide it from her soul.  If that was true, there was always hope—wasn’t there?

Paeton looked at the door.  Where was Steve?  He said his meeting would end in plenty of time to make the show.  Or if he had to, he would simply walk out
.  He should have been here by now!

But he wasn’t here.  Was he going to be a no-show?  Was he going to let her down as the jocks had in her past?  Was she going to be connected to him forever but be denied the relationship of her dreams?

But what else should she expect?  She knew she had to learn to face the reality of her and Steve.  And right now it appeared she would she have to face the reality of this voracious audience without him.

Paeton picked up the phone in the waiting room. 

“Yes, Ms. McPhilomy?”

“Has Steve Kaselman arrived yet?”  Paeton hated the slight tremor in her voice.

“Not yet, Ms. McPhilomy.  We’ll send him down as soon as he gets here.”

“Thank you.”  Paeton replaced the phone.

The show was five minutes away from going on-air.  Why did Steve always make everything last-minute?  Because he was an egotistical jock, that’s why.

She looked around the waiting room.  It was nothing special.  The walls were painted aspen white, kind of a champagne color.  The furniture was from the fifties—dark mahogany with large flowered patterns on the upholstery.  There was a TV monitor hung in one corner as in a hospital room.  A table held glasses, water, ice, and a few soft drinks. Dainty, crustless sandwiches were piled high on Royale Smith china platters. Fancy, chocolate fringed cookies beckoned from an accompanying platter.