Scrambled Babies (35 page)

“Good afternoon, Ms. McPhilomy.  We’re all ready for you,” chirped the owner, unable to restrain her enthusiasm for a lucrative client.

Christened with her new hairstyle, Paeton began adding new outfits to the new Paeton.  Next she would be adding new shoes.  Then new accessories. Then new nightwear.
New nightwear?

And the really disturbing question:  Would adding layer upon layer of newness to the outside be enough to muffle the relentless beating of the purple magic-marker heart residing inside?

#

“Paeton, you look marvelous,” glowed Fred, taking her hand and leading her to their table.

Paeton was still heady from the day’s whirl.  She had spent far too much—three thousand dollars.  But maybe this economic abandon would put new life into her writing too.  After several promising starts, the two-hour script had still barely progressed past the credits!

“Thanks, Fred.”  I did all this for you.”  She twirled like a schoolgirl and suddenly felt foolish.

Fred’s eyes reflected approval.  “I certainly am the luckiest guy.  I have to say, Paeton, you’ve always looked gorgeous, but tonight—I guess spectacular is barely adequate.”

“You’re great, Fred.”  Why did Paeton feel so awkward?  Weren’t these the words she wanted to hear?  She sat down as Fred pulled back the velvet-cushioned chair.  “I’m starving.”  She looked into Fred’s eyes.  They were certainly beautiful eyes—a slate gray.  She found she was studying them as she did a painting.  They were aesthetically pleasing, yet they held no excitement.  But Fred offered excitement in other ways.  Before she could enumerate those ways, their server came to announce the meal Fred had pre-ordered.

First, they split a huge five-pound Maine lobster.  Paeton knew Fred was privy to her favorite food.  Next, Dom Perignon substituted for Bordeaux.  Fred was going all-out.

Paeton sipped the champagne, the bubbles tickling her nostrils.  “Oh, Fred, isn’t this wonderful?  Here we are, the two of us, closed off from the outside, clawing world.  I’m lousy at being a public figure.”

“I know that, Paeton.  But this will all be over soon.  The book boycott is gone. You’ll soon be National Single Mom of the Year. The public will forgive you.  Kaselman will become a vague memory.”

His name stung her like a giant bee.  She could feel her heart swell up, becoming too large for her chest.  She choked on the champagne.

Fred came around to pat her on the back.  “You okay?”

Paeton managed a forced laugh.  “Thanks.  Too many bubbles, I guess.”

Fred laughed too.  “I know what you mean.  This is powerful stuff.”  He kept his hand on her back.  He rubbed her back and moved his other hand up to her bare neck.  “You know I’d do anything for you, Paeton.  I’ve always dreamed of the two of us being together.  I fell in love with you the minute I saw you.”

Paeton shifted uncomfortably.  “That’s lovely, Fred.”  She picked up her seafood cracker.  Was it the Dom Perignon making her stomach queasy?

Fred slid his hand from her neck and returned to his place.  He picked up his utensils too.  “Oh, baby, is this some seafood?  Five pounds of magnificent eating!”

Paeton smiled back as intimately as she could.  “The best!”  She grasped her champagne glass and raised it high.  “To—” a purple heart flashed past that made her catch her breath.  “To—us!”

Fred looked back, love in his eyes.  “Yes.  To us!”

The clinking of the champagne glasses accused— “
Liar!”

#

Paeton couldn’t get comfortable in the Italian leather seats of Fred’s XJ6 Jaguar.  She kept pushing the buttons on her seat.

Fred laughed as a man laughs when he has the woman he loves in the seat next to him.  “What are you doing, darling?  My passenger seat has never had such a workout.”

Paeton smiled blankly in response.  “Oh, I don’t know.  I can’t seem to find the right combination so I’m comfortable.”

“That’s odd.  You’ve always been comfortable before.”

“I know.  I guess things aren’t completely settled down yet.”

Fred leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.  “Well, we’ll take care of that soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” and he laughed knowingly.  “You’ll see.”

Paeton still hadn’t found the right combination of seat adjustments by the time they arrived at her hotel.  They stopped, and the valet opened the door for her.

“Good evening, Ms. McPhilomy.”

“Thank you.”  Paeton got out and started walking toward the entrance.

Fred jumped out by himself.  “Hey, wait for me.”

“Oh, Fred, are you coming?”

“Am I coming?  Are you feeling well?  I thought we could spend, you know, some time before I went home.”

She didn’t answer.  They reached the lobby elevator.  “Okay,” she said in a low voice.

The elevator door opened.  They rode in silence to Paeton’s floor.  Fred took Paeton’s hand as they ascended.  He nuzzled her neck.  She stood accepting his affection.

“I love you, Paeton.”

Bong.  The elevator doors parted.  They walked hand in hand down the hallway and stopped at her suite.  Paeton looked into Fred’s gray eyes.  He bent his head and kissed her on the mouth.  They stopped in the hallway.  He put his arms around her.  She put her arms around him.  When his lips parted and she felt his tongue, she dropped her hands and said quietly, “I just don’t feel right tonight, Fred.  It’s been so fast.”  She could feel the ache in her heart.  What was she doing?  But she decided this was what living a normal life was all about.  Sometimes it didn’t feel right.

Fred pulled back.  Paeton could tell he was confused and embarrassed.  “It’s okay, honey.”  He kissed her forehead.  “I understand.  I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Fred.  You’re such an angel.”  She lifted her head and kissed his mouth gently.  “You’re such a pal.”

“Pal.  Right.  Uh, good night, Paeton.”  He turned away, stopped, then slowly turned completely around.  “I love you.  Good night.”

Paeton stood there.  She lifted one hand and waved weakly.  She located her key and let herself into her suite.  She would make it up to Fred tomorrow—wouldn’t she?

#

“Me too, Fred.”  Tomorrow had come—and gone.  So had another day.  And another.  And now it was Saturday, and she still hadn’t made it up to Fred.  “Yes, see you tonight.  I can’t wait either.”  Paeton hung up.  Fred was always telling her he loved her, but she could only respond “me too.”  She had never told Fred she loved him.  She wondered if he noticed.

It was almost eight-thirty.  Paeton absentmindedly clicked on the morning news.  She went to the front door of her suite and collected the newspaper.

She poured herself a cup of steaming coffee and sat down to read the paper.

Cough!  Paeton choked on a swallow of her just-brewed beverage.  Over the top of her newspaper she glimpsed Steve Kaselman on the morning TV news.  The two-dimensional image did not diminish the hook his eyes still had for her.

“Early this morning, Steve ‘Mr. Mom’ Kaselman was caught in the office lobby of
In Your Face
publications.  He was unarmed and very red-faced.  When asked why he was breaking into those offices, he answered, ‘Three guesses!’”

Three guesses!
  Paeton felt at once guilty and touched.  She had expected the lawsuit and her iciness in the elevator to make him furious, but she never dreamed he would go to such extremes to recover the incriminating tape. 
Damn him!
  Why was he always so wonderful and so infuriating at the same time?

Ring!

Paeton went hesitantly to the phone.  “Hello?”

“Paeton McPhilomy?  This is Steedly Black of
In Your Face
.  Could you tell me why—?”

Paeton slammed down the phone.

A moment later, it rang again.  She glared at it until her answering machine kicked in.  “Ms. McPhilomy, this is Brian Evans from the
Daily Herald,
Atlanta, Georgia.  Can you tell me if the break-in at the
In Your Face
offices by Mr. Mom, and his reason, ‘three guesses,’ have anything to do with you?  My number is one, eight eight eight—”  Paeton hit the machine’s stop button to deflect the assault.

Ring!

Paeton yanked the cord out of the answering machine.

Ring!

Paeton yanked the phone cord out of the wall.

Her head was spinning.  It appeared she was destined to be a victim one way or another of Steve Kaselman and his dangerous, lovable ways.

#

That evening, Paeton and Fred were entering the Casablanca restaurant, one of Beverly Hills’ finest.  She was still shaken from seeing Steve on TV that morning.  She decided not to engage in any conversation with Fred about Kaselman’s latest media splash.  She was quite sure Fred wouldn’t mention it either.

As they approached the maitre d’, swinging held hands, Paeton laughed vacantly, “You know, we have to eat at home sometime.”

Fred looked at her tenderly.  “Right, we need to buy a house so we can cook.”  He teased lovingly, “Or so someone can cook.”

“Fred.  Be kind.”  Paeton was not known for her culinary expertise.  Her mother had always enjoyed cooking so much, Paeton rarely had the chance to prepare meals.  So when she got married, her cooking entailed heavy use of microwave ovens and restaurants.

Wait a minute!  What did Fred mean by “
we
need to buy a house?”  Well, wasn’t that what she was hoping for?  That she and Fred would get married and buy a house and have a normal life as she and Kevin had done?  Wasn’t her goal to return to normalcy?  To put bumping into men at airports behind her?  Wasn’t her life, since Steve Kaselman, out of the norm?  And wasn’t that an understatement?

The chutney was the best.  Fred definitely knew his restaurants.  The Casablanca did serve the most tantalizing Middle Eastern food.  Nobody could match the lamb at the Casablanca.

Fred filled their glasses with vibrant, dark claret.  He had a huge smile on his face as if he had just swallowed the proverbial canary.

“Fred, what are you up to?”  But what Fred was up to was going to be no real surprise to Paeton.  Her stomach tightened.  She felt perspiration surface on her upper lip as Fred put his hand into his jacket pocket.  He pulled out a velvet-covered box.  He took one of Paeton’s hands, uncurled her fingers, and placed the box in the palm of her hand. 

“Paeton, surely this is not unexpected.  This is what you’ve been wanting from me since your rift with Steve.”

Now her throat was as tight as her stomach.  She took a sip of wine with her free hand, staring down at the rich gold box.  Her eyes met Fred’s.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Oh, come on, honey.  Open it!  I think you’ll like it.”

She was having difficulty getting that last sip of wine down her throat.  “Like it?  I’m sure I’ll love it.”

“Well, open it.  Go on.”

Paeton started to release the hinged lid. 

Ring!