Dial H for Hitchcock (6 page)

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either is babysitting for two children under the age of four.

“Higher!” Alexander shrieked. “Faster!”

“Okay,” I said. “Be careful what you wish for!” Panting for air, sweat dripping into my eyes, I gave him a shove. As the swing ascended, rusty metal poles quaking, Alexander kicked his heels together and his light-up tennis shoes shot into the sky like tiny rockets to Mars.

“Whee!” he cried. “Again!”

Hitchcock had a theory about swings. Swings are the gateway drug. By age five, you’re already craving the adrenaline rush. Then come roller coasters and haunted houses and before you know it you’re an unregenerate addict, sitting in a dark movie theater, heart pounding, as Marion Crane gets stabbed to death in the shower of the Bates Motel.

“Bet you can’t fly like Spiderman,” Alexander said to the boy on the swing next to him, who was dragging his feet in the
sand, enthralled by something he’d found in his nose. “I can! I can fly!”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” I said.

“I’m ‘sponsible!”

“Of course you are.” I grabbed hold of the swing to slow him down, then unhooked the safety chain. “Which is why we’ve got to stop and take care of your sister now.”

“We left her at the gas station.” He wriggled out of his seat and ran toward the giant steel mesh octopus that sprayed water every fifteen seconds.

I glanced over at Radha, asleep in her stroller. Her little chest moved up and down, as regular as the waves at sea. I pulled up her blanket and tucked it under her chin. “Why would we have left this angel at the gas station?”

Alexander was now hanging upside down from one of the octopus’s tentacles. “Because she’s full of gas, of course!”

The kid on the swing guffawed appreciatively.

At nine o’clock this morning, I’d gone over to Annie and Vincent’s sprawling house in Topanga Canyon to pick up the children. We’d arranged it over a month ago, back when I was still a beloved member of the family. It was a very important day for all of us. Alexander’s mother—with whom Vincent had been involved prior to meeting Annie—had pulled another disappearing act, only this time she’d had the sense to relinquish her maternal rights before taking off.

Today was the day Annie and Vincent were due to appear in court so that Annie could sign the adoption papers. Today was the day Alexander would officially become her son. But she’d been his mother from the moment he’d first given her one of his beautiful, crooked smiles. And I’d been his
grandmother. Despite being in the full flower of my youth, I might add.

Now Alexander was digging in the sand with a yellow Bob the Builder shovel someone had left behind.

“I’m going to China,” he said.

“That’s wonderful, honey. I’ll just be over here, okay?” I pushed Radha’s stroller onto the curb and over to an unoccupied bench. “Stay where I can see you, please.”

I hated to wake a sleeping baby, but she needed changing. I opened Annie’s diaper bag, which was the size and heft of a carry-on, and dug through the toys and snacks and changes of clothes until I found the fully biodegradable aloe vera—infused baby wipes; a clean, fair trade white cloth diaper; and the hundred-percent-recycled changing pad.

Radha was light as a feather. “Hello, angel,” I whispered into her little pink ear. She had Vincent’s ears, slightly pointed at the top. But those were Annie’s lips and Annie’s nose. And Annie’s unearthly cry. I remembered it well.

“Uh-oh, you woke up the baby,” said Alexander, ambling over with the kid from the swing in tow. “She doesn’t like it when you do that.”

“Uh-oh,” opined his new friend.

The howling intensified.

“Sometimes,” Alexander continued, “she screams for a whole hour. Mommy and Daddy get very sad.”

“I never get sad,” I said.

Radha squirmed and shrieked, her face turning the color of a pomegranate. But not counting the small amount of blood I drew when I poked myself with the diaper pin, she was no match for me.

“I’m going to give her a bottle now,” I announced.

“The hot rod hates milk,” Alexander said.

Hot Rod was Gambino’s nickname for Radha. It’d stuck.

Alexander’s friend tapped me on the shoulder. He looked like Alfalfa from the Little Rascals. “The ice cream truck is here. Can I have a snow cone?”

There was something missing from this picture. “Where’s your mommy, little boy?” I asked, hoisting the still-crying baby onto my shoulder.

Alfalfa spun around, then turned back to me and shrugged his shoulders. “She went home.”

I plugged the baby’s mouth with a pacifier. Then I knelt down in front of the little boy. “What do you mean she went home?”

“Look around,” Alfalfa said. “No mommies here.”

It was true. We were the only people left in the park. The dark clouds had driven everyone away. Even the ice cream man had turned on his creepy music and was decamping for sunnier climes. I felt a droplet hit my nose. Then, without warning, it started to pour.

“Head for cover, boys!” I tucked Radha into her stroller and pointed toward the small brick building by the parking lot in which the senior center and park office were housed.

Hooting and whooping in delight, the boys ran across the soggy grass. I pulled down the stroller’s hood and followed, instantly regretting it as the spokes of the wheels quickly filled with mud and wet leaves, then locked up entirely so that I had to pick the thing up and run with it the rest of the way. By some miracle, though, the bouncing had soothed the baby, and by the time I put her down under the pergola she was
sleeping contentedly, dry as a whistle, which was more than I could say for the rest of us.

After shaking ourselves off, we went into the office, which smelled like freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon rolls. But there was nobody seated behind the front desk. Maybe they were all taking their break. At times like these, I always wondered why I hadn’t become a civil servant.

“Hello!” I called out, peering down the hall. “Anybody back there? I’ve got a lost kid here.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Alfalfa said, squeezing his legs together. “Also my feet are wet.”

“Can you hold it in for a minute?” I asked. “Until we see about your mom?”

“Okay.” He uncrossed his legs and went over to a little blue table in the corner of the waiting area, picked up a copy of
Highlights,
and started reading it upside down.

“Do you know your phone number?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “It has a three in it.”

“I have to go to the bathroom, too,” said Alexander.

“Honey, please just hold it while I think for a minute. Hello! Hello!”

Still no answer.

“Stay here, boys,” I said, “while I go back there and look for somebody.”

Pushing the stroller determinedly in front of me, I walked behind the desk and into the corridor, my wet sneakers slapping the cheap linoleum. All the doors were shut. I banged on them successively, but to no avail.

Back in the waiting area, both boys were on the verge of tears.

“No need to worry.” I smiled hysterically. “Let’s go to the bathroom, then we’ll figure out what to do.”

That’s when they really started to cry. That woke up the baby, who joined them in a rousing three-part harmony.

Just as we were heading out, a hatchet-faced woman with freckles came storming in, a uniformed cop behind her.

“That’s the one!” shouted the hatchet face. “She’s the one who snatched my son!”

I stepped back, incredulous. “What?”

“You should take those other children into protective custody.” She grabbed Alfalfa by the collar and pulled him toward her. “Are you hurt, Freddy? Why are you crying?”

“He’s crying because you abandoned him in the park! And don’t even think about going near my grandkids! Sir,” I said, turning to the policeman, “this child was left in the park, and we came here hoping to reunite him with his mother.”

“I’m sure this has all been a simple misunderstanding,” the cop said. “Can I see your driver’s license, Miss?”

I shot a triumphant look at the hatchet face, dug around in my purse, and handed it to him.

“Anita Colby,” he read. “1475 Havenhurst. Is that your current address, Ms. Colby?”

Pride goeth before a fall.

“Uh, that’s not the right one.” I grabbed Anita’s license out of his hand and shoved it back in my purse, digging deeper until I found my own. “Here it is. Cece Caruso. Just look at the picture.” I pulled my wet, straggly hair back off my face. “See? It’s me. Okay, so maybe I’ve gained a couple of pounds.”

The cop sat us all down, then turned away while he punched my driver’s license number into his handheld computer. After
a couple of minutes, he said, “I think we’ve got a situation here.”

“A situation?” I asked meekly.

“Seems you’re wanted for questioning in another matter.” He paused a beat. “The Anita Colby matter?”

I swallowed hard.

“I’m supposed to let you know, Ms. Caruso, that you are expected at the twenty-eighth precinct Sunday morning at 9:00 a.m. for a sit-down with Detectives McQueen and Collins. I’m assuming their names are ringing a bell?”

I nodded.

“That’s this Sunday. The day after tomorrow. I apologize in advance if it interferes with your worship schedule. You with me?”

I nodded again.

“I’d like to suggest you bring a lawyer. That’s just my advice. I’m only telling you because you seem like a nice person. And you’ve got grandkids and all. My grandma’s back in Oregon. She raised me.” He started tearing up. “Anyway, you can go now.”

“That’s it?” asked Freddy’s mom in disbelief.

“You okay, kid?” the cop asked Freddy. “Lady didn’t try to snatch you, did she?”

“Nope,” Freddy replied. “But she wouldn’t buy me a snow cone, neither.”

“Remember to drive safely,” the cop said. “Precious cargo, ladies.”

Freddy stuck out his tongue at me in parting.

I reciprocated because I’m that kind of person.

T
he children slept the whole way home, but Alexander perked up the moment he saw Vincent and Annie.

“Grandma got in trouble with the police!” he yelled, leaping into his father’s open arms. “We’ll miss her when she goes to jail!”

Annie stared at me. “Mom? What is he talking about?”

“Just a little misunderstanding. Do you have any of your special Kombucha tea, sweetie?”

Kombucha tea is the vilest substance known to man, but Annie was a devotee and I was still trying to worm my way back into her good graces.

“You don’t have to go overboard,” she said. “I’m over it. Your relationship with Gambino, I mean. If you say it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Thank you,” I said. “In which case I’d love coffee.”

She went to the freezer and pulled out a bag of organic beans. “As long as you’re really sure.”

“I am.”

She waited until the grinder was done whirring. “Absolutely sure?”

“Yup.”

“So what’s this little misunderstanding with the police?”

“Unpaid parking ticket. How’d it go with the judge?”

Annie smiled and the room lit up like the Fourth of July. She was that kind of person. If she was happy, you couldn’t help but be happy, too.

“Like clockwork,” she said.

“I’m giving them their baths now.” Vincent had come in with a naked child in each arm. “Say goodnight, Alexander.”

“Goodnight, Alexander,” said Alexander. It was part of their routine.

“Vincent,” I said suddenly.

He turned around. “Yeah?”

I grabbed my purse and pulled out the hot pink cell phone from hell. “Can you do me a favor? Because you were so nice when I first got my phone. Thanks to you, I love received calls.”

“I’m glad,” he said patiently.

“Unfortunately, we never got through all the camera stuff. So I’m wondering if you have a minute to show me how to retrieve these photos I took the other day. I was on a hike and got some really beautiful nature shots. I’d love to show them to you and Annie. Maybe make Christmas cards with them. I was thinking a nice collage.”

“Since when do you make Christmas cards?” Annie looked dubious.

“I
love
art.”

“Christmas cards aren’t art. They’re crafts. You hate crafts.”

“I crocheted that oven mitt.”

Annie put her hands on her hips. “When you were nine.”

“Enough,” said Vincent. “I’d be happy to show you when I’m done giving the kids their baths.”

Annie sidled up to her husband and slipped the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “There goes the rest of our evening.”

“I heard that,” I said.

“How about I sit here for a minute, then,” Vincent said, handing me the baby and walking over to his computer, “and just e-mail them to you? Then you can peruse them at your leisure.”

“Works for me,” I said, counting Radha’s beautiful toes. Ten.

Annie poured our drinks and sat down.

“I’m just so relieved,” she said, exhaling. “You know, I used to be worried about what would happen if Roxana ever did come back.”

Roxana was Alexander’s biological mother. “I know.”

“But that’s all over now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Because I’m the one Alexander goes to for a hug when he falls down. And I’m the one who tucks him in at night. And I’m the one who knows his favorite color is green.”

She was still trying to convince herself. I could hear it in her voice.

“Did I ever tell you, Mom, that he’s the only kid in his whole school who knows the names of all the knights of the round table?”

“You told me,” I said. “He’s an amazing child. And so are you,” I said, kissing the baby. “You, too,” I said to Annie.

And so she was. When I first left my ex and we came out to Los Angeles, I was a wreck. Annie got herself up for school every day, made her own lunches, did her homework, got herself ready for bed. All I had the energy for was gin rummy. I used to play with my grandmother when I was little. Gin rummy made me feel safe. So Annie played with me every night for six months. After that, she said it was time to pull myself together. The first thing we did was go to the nursery together and pick out two tiny citrus trees, an orange and a lemon. We had a little ceremony and planted them next to each other in the backyard. The sour with the sweet, she’d said.

“Speaking of knights, how’s Lael?” Lael had made a cake for Alexander’s last birthday party that was shaped like a jousting tent, with banners and flags and a solid peanut butter knight. One boy in his class couldn’t attend because of life-threatening allergies. “Have you made up with her yet?”

“No.”

“That’s crazy.”

“All done,” said Vincent.

“What a day,” said Annie. “Am I right?”

“What a day,” her husband echoed. He dropped the phone back into my purse and took the baby. “Almost out of juice.”

“The baby?” I asked.

Vincent smiled. “Your phone.”

“Mom. About Lael.”

“I’m going to call her soon.” I drained the rest of my coffee and stood up. “I’ve just been so busy since I came back from the cruise.”

“With what? The book? How is it going?”

“You’re sweet to ask,” I said. “It’s going great.”

I do not believe a parent owes a child the unvarnished truth. Annie needed to get involved in another one of my crises like she needed a hole in the head.

“I’ve got to run,” I said. “Congratulations to you both.”

As I was leaving, my daughter gave me a hug and pressed one of her famous carob and tofu loaves into my hands. The thing weighed at least ten pounds. As I sprinted to the car, I dropped it, then my purse, and finally my brand-new BlackBerry, which bounced once, then rolled out into oncoming traffic, where a Hummer going double the speed limit pulverized it. And I hadn’t even filled out the warranty.

The carob and tofu loaf, however, survived intact.

What a day is right.