Scrambled Babies (15 page)

There was a silence while both tried to make some sense of the situation.

Steve spoke first.  “Okay, so how did you find out it was me?  And why are you in my office?”

It was Paeton’s turn to laugh.  “You can’t be serious.  The whole television-viewing world watched you leave the announcer’s booth to change my child’s diaper.  The real question here, Mr. Kaselman,” and she started gathering momentum, “is why didn’t you call me?  I spoke to Sophia last night.  I gave her my number!  I came to New York because you never called.  Why did you go to California without calling me?”  Paeton concluded this volley with almost a shriek.

“Hey, wait a minute!  Don’t yell at me!” 
Wow!
  This was not the romantic fantasy Steve had conjured up about their first phone call.  He envisioned her soft and wonderful and sexy.  But she was coming across as a hard-ass, for Christ’s sake!  Okay, he’d make her realize she was the one in the wrong.  “I told you, I did call you.  I left you a message this morning at your room.”

“You’re at the Beverly Hills Arms?  You left me a message?  If you knew I was staying there, why didn’t you call me last night after I left my number with Sophia?”

“I didn’t get your number last night.  I only got your area code.  So I took the red-eye to L.A.  I figured somehow I had a better chance of finding you if I was at least in the same area.  For the hell of it, I asked the hotel clerk when I checked in if a Paeton McPhilomy was staying here.  He said yes.  I left a message.  You see, Sophia thought you were probably another kook and spit her gum into—oh, never mind.  But I left a message in your hotel room at six this morning.  Why didn’t you call me?”  Steve was losing patience with the feisty romance writer.

Oh, my god, that
was
Kelsey going into the elevator! I just missed
—Paeton’s answer sizzled back over the phone line.  “Obviously, Mr. Kaselman, I never
got
your message!  Apparently as you were putting a message on my phone, I was out the door to catch an early-morning plane to New York!  To try to meet you at your office.  I don’t believe this!  So you’re at the Beverly Hills Arms?” 

Steve laughed again.  “Yes, I’m at the Beverly Hills Arms.”

He could almost hear Paeton reloading.  She fired.  “So you still think this is funny!  Do you imagine I enjoy dragging two children back and forth across the country?  And Sophia did what with my message?”

Man, she doesn’t let up!
Then Steve felt a pleasurable warmth pump through him.
 But maybe I like her attitude.  Her spunk.
  Steve’s women never talked back to him.  They were always all over him like a cheap suit.  Trying to please him.  Trying to get him into bed.  Maybe she didn’t have to be soft and wonderful.  Maybe feisty was sexy. 

He smiled as she railed at him.  He didn’t expect a romance writer to come back at him like a crazed pass-rusher!  Actually, this was fun.  He sat back as he spoke and pictured that wonderful mouth moving to her angry words.  “Sophia spit her gum into your message.  She thought you were some kind of kook.  I get a lot of calls from kooks.”

“I can imagine.  So you never told her anything specific about us?”

Steve liked the “about us.”  They were a couple, of sorts.  “Uh, no.  You didn’t tell anyone either, right?”

Inexplicably, during her intense repartee with Steve, Paeton felt that new, delicious sensation spreading through her again.  She became aware she was savoring the fragrance of Steve’s cologne as she swiveled nervously in his chair.  It was the same cologne she had smelled when she bumped into him at the airport.  It had become her favorite!

“Not really.”  Paeton didn’t think Fred counted.

“What do you mean ‘not really?’”

“No, I haven’t told anyone about us.”  Which was technically true—no one knew about her being rocketed into outer space by the eyes of Steve Kaselman.

“Okay, good.  Me either.”

“By the way, I want to straighten you out about something—you understand we owe all this turmoil to you, Kaselman!”

“To me?  And for god’s sake, call me Steve!  We have met.  We have each other’s kid, for crissake!  Speaking of kids, what’s your daughter’s name?  My son is Ryan.”

“Yes, we owe this turmoil to you!  Kelsey is her name.  And would you please stop using profanity in front of her?  I’m assuming my daughter is with you.  And I don’t recall having
met
you.”

“Yes, she’s with me.  Okay, I apologize.”  Then he started sputtering.  “Hey, wait just a minute here!  Come on, your eyes were glued as tightly to mine as mine to yours.  You have to admit that.” 

The truth stalled her answer.  She was leaving too long a silence.  Finally, she decided to take the offensive again.  “Excuse me?  My eyes were what?  Glued to yours?  My eyes have never been
glued
to
any
male’s eyes.  Because you think you can make a pass at any female within eye-range doesn’t mean—”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve rolled right over her words.  “You didn’t feel something when our eyes met while I was keeping you from falling down?”

Paeton figured Steve wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer.  Well, what could she expect from some stuck-on-himself jock?  She remained deliberately quiet.

Steve advanced his verbal onslaught.  “This thing is your fault as much as mine.  Actually, more yours, because mothers are supposed to know their own kids, for god’s sake!”

Paeton jumped back into the fray.  “And fathers aren’t?  Or maybe only jock fathers.”

“Hey, what is it with you and jocks?  I can’t help it if I like to play and am good at sports.  Is this some kind of crime with you?”  Paeton could sense Steve’s anger escalating.  “This whole mess is your responsibility, if you want to know exactly how I feel.”

“What?”  She gathered in a fresh supply of venom.  “You arrogant, stuffed-into-your-too-tight-vest jerk.  You, who are so vain, you can’t give up your old suit size.  You egocentric jock, who makes a living talking and writing about children’s games—” 

“Call me all the names you want.  I still say it’s your fault, lady.”

If Steve Kaselman had been there, she would have slugged him!  “Listen, mister hotshot sports reporter—”  She issued a guttural sound.

“Hey, what the—!”  Steve’s attention was obviously diverted.

Paeton thought she heard a door open and a lot of yelling coming into the room.  She felt she had to shout over the din.  “Kaselman?  What is going on out there?”

Steve shouted back, “It’s a long story.  Bunch of reporters.  I can’t talk to you anymore.  I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

“Call me back?  Kaselman?  Are you out of your mind?  We haven’t made any plans to—”

“Sorry.  Can’t talk.  Wait with Sophia.  I’ll call as soon as I can.  Bye, Paeton.” 

Paeton heard the click.  He was gone.  She looked at the mouthpiece in disbelief.  What had happened?  What did this guy have going on that he had to talk to reporters? 

Paeton had no idea how to assess the situation, but she decided this was not good.  Reporters right now spelled trouble for both of them later. 

She slammed the phone down in anger and frustration.  Steve Kaselman—incredible eyes or no—turned out to be not entirely a nice man. 

Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that the part of him that was nice was outrageously nice!

Burp!

A resounding belch erupted from Ryan, drawing Paeton’s attention back to the overwhelming reality of the day—when was she ever going to get Kelsey back?

#

Olivier Saint Marquette crashed into Steve as the crowd of reporters filled the office.  “I’m sorry, Steve.  Someone leaked our signing of you.  It’s really big news.  They want you to change a diaper on TV!”

Steve felt his mouth go dry.  He was in the soup now!  How was he going to get out of this one?

“What brand of diapers do you currently use, Steve?” 

It had already started.  The truth was he had switched his brand of diapers since he saw what Paeton had left as a spare in the travelseat.  TidyDipy or some damn thing.  When he checked after Ollie’s phone call, he discovered he wasn’t using ComfyDypes.  He knew Maury wouldn’t like that.  But he hadn’t had time to buy any yet.

Now all he wanted to do was get the hell out of there!  And did Ollie say “change a diaper on TV?” 
Christ, I can’t do that! 

Then a strange and wonderful desire lapped at him.  He wished Paeton were there with him.  He didn’t really know why.  Even though their conversation was unsettling and amounted to no progress, he perceived an affection for her different from his feelings for any woman he had ever known.  She was an unflinching, aggressive, take-charge woman.  She would know how to handle these yo-yo reporters.  But she wasn’t there.  Steve would have to forge ahead without her.

“As a matter of fact, I use ComfyDypes, of course.”  He hoped in all the hubbub no one would notice it was that other brand.  “What else would Mr. Mom use?  But I’m on a fast-track right now.  Can’t stay.  I have a column to write and a baby to take care of.  Bottle is due any minute for the little—” and he choked on the word, “guy.” 

Steve knew he better make a break for it.  “Now if you people will excuse me, I have to—”

An extremely pushy little man with a pencil mustache shoved a camera in his face.  “Let’s see how Mr. Mom changes a ComfyDype right now.”

“Yeah, how long can that take?” someone else shouted.

Christ, I’m dead!
  Steve pasted on his announcer smile.  “Well, I don’t think Ryan needs a change right now.”

“Awww!”  The crowd groaned its disappointment in unison. 

The pushy little man with the pencil mustache spoke again.  “We don’t care if the baby needs it.  We want to see Mr. Mom’s expertise at changing a diaper.”

“Yeah!”  The crowd surged forward in support.

Steve saw he had to give in just to get out of there.  “Okay, okay.  I’ll change the little tyke.” 
Think, Steve, think!  How are you going to—got it!
  “But for his sake, let’s do it behind a blanket.  This man-child could never live down having his private parts exposed on national TV.  He’d seek me out and disown me if it ever got out.  You understand.”  With that, Steve deftly grabbed the blanket and stuffed it down the little girl’s front.  When he was certain her gender would be hidden from view, he whipped out a new diaper, hoping no one would notice the brand. 
How different can the damn things look?  At least I don’t have to worry about screwing up the diaper change.  How hard is it to change a diaper that has no pins?

The TV cameras whirred.  The electronic flashes blinked. And “Ryan” had been changed for the nation, probably the world.  As Steve was putting the sleeper back on the infant, he heard the little man with the mustache say something strange in his ear.  “I know he’s only three months, but there didn’t seem to be any mound at all where his manhood should be when you covered it with that blanket.  Are you sure this is your baby?”

Steve felt all the blood drain from his head.  As if, his team losing, he had called the wrong play and time had run out.  Who was this guy?  And what was his problem?  When Steve turned to answer, the little man had disappeared. 

Steve turned to Ollie.  “I’ve got to get out of here, Ollie.  I have to hop a plane to New York.”  Ollie’s face was so red Steve thought his whole head might explode.

Ollie whispered in his ear, “That wasn’t our diaper!  We’ll have a supply sent to your hotel suite.”  Steve shrank from the intimate wetness of Ollie’s angry sibilants.  Then Ollie backed away and spoke almost like a whining six-year-old.  “But, Steeeve, we were going to have a national news conference to present Mr. Mom to the world.”