Scrambled Babies (40 page)

The screaming awareness drained all feeling from her legs. 

Suddenly, Madison became extremely agitated, broke away, and raced to a seat in the waiting area.

“Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!”  She was jumping up and down and pointing her small finger at a purple magic-marker heart on the seatback.  “It says ‘Paeton and Steve’!”

The top of Paeton’s head went electric!  Her vision blurred.  She inched toward the graffiti on numb legs, as if approaching an alien.

And there, as impossible as it was, her eyes focused on names clearly spelled out—“Paeton + Steve!”

At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks from the stress she had been under.  She had to be imagining the names.  She shook her head to clear it.  To perceive what was indeed there.

But wait!  No!  It was Madison who had seen the names and called them out!

“Mommy, who put that there?”

Paeton’s mind was spinning crazily, making everything fuzzy and surreal.  Mechanically, she placed Kelsey on the seat next to the one with the names.  Finally, she faltered, “I don’t know who could have done that, Maddy.”  She had to bring some reason to the situation.  She had to answer her daughter with a sensible explanation.  “Well, it’s about two other people named Paeton and Steve, honey.  It’s simply a—a coincidence.”

“I never heard of anyone else named Paeton and Steve.  What’s a co-win-sen-dens?”

Madison
’s words rang true. 
This was no coincidence.  This was—?

Steve!  Of course.  Steve had come along and finished writing the names into the initials.  She laughed tentatively.

“Why are you laughing, Mommy?  What’s a co-win-sen-dens?”

“What, sweetheart?  Oh, it’s just—uh, just something that happens, and we think it’s something that it really isn’t.”

“Oh, well, I don’t think it’s a co-win-sen-dens.”

What was Madison saying?  What she was saying made sense.  This could not be random.  But Paeton knew it couldn’t have been Steve either.  The letters were elegant, old-English style.  Three-dimensional looking, with a dark border.  Steve was left-handed, his handwriting atrocious.

Madison
had sat down and was swinging her legs.  “When are we going to London, Mommy?  I’m tired of airports and stuff.”

Paeton couldn’t break from her preoccupation with the graffiti.  “I know, honey.  I’m sorry.  We’ll be leaving soon.  We’ll be—”

She reached down and ran her fingers across the names in the heart. 
Oh!
  A sweet pain shot through her chest.  The names flashed in iridescent colors, leaping off the surface of the seat.  They pranced and paraded in front of her like animated characters.  Teasing her unbelieving eyes.  She closed them.  She flopped down hard into a seat next to Madison.  Paeton felt unearthly.  Every square inch of her skin prickled as if her entire army of red corpuscles was stampeding to exit.  When she opened her eyes again, the heart had courteously returned to its rightful, two-dimensional place on the seatback.

“Mommy, are you okay?”

“Yes, honey.  I’m—I’m fine.  I need a moment to rest.”

Her legs still numb, she forced herself to breathe deeply.  To relax.  To take charge.  To beat the stress.  The nonstop stress that had become her lifestyle since the fireworks that had flowered the heavens on the Fourth of July. 

She checked the graffiti.  She checked Kelsey.  She checked Madison.  She made breathing a conscious effort.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Good.  Finally, rational thought seemed possible.  Paeton could now bring reason to her most recent—should she say hallucinations?  Dancing hearts? 

She began a conversation with herself.  Reconstructing how Steve had painted the rest of the names in the heart
.  Okay.  Steve had come past this gate.  Had seen the initials sometime in his travels.  He enlisted a friend.  Judging from the flowery art, probably a female friend—
she felt a nudge of jealousy—
and added the rest of their names.  If someone in authority had interrupted them, Steve, with his winning ways, would have explained that the seat had already been defaced, so what was the harm in elaborating on the graffiti a bit?  And furthermore, it was in the interest of the most powerful force on earth—love.  He and his friend were creating a graffiti valentine, so to speak. 

She found herself shaking her head in begrudging admiration.  She could picture Steve doing a sell-job on the security officer.  She felt another nudge.  Picturing Steve was still a problem for Paeton.

And then—bam!  It hit her.  Whether Steve had written the names, or whether a friend of his had, or whether it was a coincidence, was not the issue.  The issue was running!  Paeton was running, had been running from too-tight-vest ever since their eyes met in that moment of ecstasy.  She smiled sadly as she thought about how she had first named him
.  Yes, Paeton, the simple message the heart is sending is “Stop running!”  Stop running and play out the final scenes with Steve!
  She had to face him and deal with their relationship—for good or for ill.  She had to bring closure to whatever sprang to life that day.  She must return to L.A. 

Paeton pulled out her ticket to London and tore it up.  She enjoyed tearing up the ticket.  She was definitely feeling better.

Maddy poked her head around to see what Paeton was doing.  “Mommy, why are you doing that?”

For the first time in quite a while, Paeton felt solid.  She felt direction.  “Because we’re not going to England.  We’re going back to Los Angeles.”

“Yea!  Goody!  Will we see Steve and Ryan?”

A confident smile formed on Paeton’s lips.  “Yes.  Yes, we will.  We definitely will.”

“Goody.  I like Steve.”

Yes, she would go back to face her Destiny with Steve Kaselman.  She now fully understood that regardless of what airport in the world she traveled to, there would always be a purple magic-marker heart somewhere with “Paeton + Steve” in it.  Before her life could move to any new place, Paeton had to embrace or erase the purple magic-marker heart.

#

“That’s great news, Paeton.”

She was talking to Fred from her New York apartment about an hour after changing her plans to fly to London.

“By the way, we did some checking on Steedly Black.  The guy was a child star about twenty years ago.  Had his own show.  You may have seen reruns, ‘Main Street Child?’”

“No, I never heard of it, Fred.”

“Well, he begged his producers to bring his newborn brother on the show.  When they finally did, the infant stole the show and Steedly’s career with it.  When Steedly became a reporter, he went into the tabloids.  Whenever he could, he would try to sabotage celebrities who had newborns.  He developed a sick vendetta to stop the celebrity and the child from ever having a chance at any kind of success.  His scheme has worked several times.  Remember that soap star—Rita somebody—who had a baby and tried to work the kid into the show?  Then it came out splashed on the cover of
In Your Face
that she supposedly didn’t know who the father was?”

“Yes, I do remember.  It was Rita Constable.  She had a big part on
The Sun Still Rises
.  I used to follow that soap.  I don’t think she ever returned to the show.”  Paeton thought a moment.  “Then that explains why Black was on the plane with me on my way out to L.A.”

“Exactly.”  Fred paused.  “Well, I’m glad you’re coming back.  Are we going to meet his challenge?”

“We’ll beat the pants off him.”  A chill passed from her neck to her toes.  She had echoed Steve’s exact words. 
Damn!
  She would be so elated when she finally resolved her future connection with that jock!

Nonetheless, something was easing in her outlook.  She was looking forward to closure.  And there was only one way to reach that—heed the message of the magic-marker heart.  Stop running from Steve Kaselman.  Meet him head on!

“That’s my girl.”

“See you in L.A., Fred.  Bye.”

Paeton hung up, determination flowing through her
.  Head on!  Face-to-face!  That was the only way!

#

Paeton had been so brave at the airport about facing Steve.  Now, sitting at Royale’s conference table, waiting for what she knew would be his captivating appearance, she was no longer brave.  Her heart pounded out of control.  A pain shot through her chest.  The conversation on the tape Steve played for her had proved him innocent, but that one instance of proof had not completely banished the terrifying fear of an ultimate betrayal.

She had an urge to get up and run again.  She gripped the courtesy pencil placed for all conference members.  A few seconds later—crack!—to her and everyone’s surprise, she had snapped it in two.

She felt the blush form on her cheeks.

Fred whispered, “You okay?”

“Fine, fine,” she muttered.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the door push open.  She looked up.

Ka-zing! 

Guess who!

All her senses sprang to life.  His chest looked especially strapping with a black-and-wine-striped body shirt pulled tautly across it.  His arms and hands were so sure and athletic.  She remembered the one time they made her whole body sing.  She attempted to swallow the knot in her throat, avoiding his eyes that immediately searched for hers.

Royale, who had not sat down with the group yet, greeted him.  “Steve Kaselman, glad you’re here.”

Steve nodded, “Royale,” and took a seat, his eyes never leaving Paeton.

“Let’s get started.”  Royale took her place at the head of the long teak conference table, taking immediate charge.            

Paeton couldn’t look at Steve without aching to touch him.  She noticed her hands were trembling slightly. 
Great way to start closure, Paeton!

There he was, sitting directly across from her.  His eyes seeking intimate contact.  She knew better than to connect under these circumstances.  Why was he so indiscreet about where they were when he flashed those demons at her?

Paeton knew her primary task was to perform on the show with Steve at her side without being affected by him.  Her impulsive reaction to Steve’s entrance was totally that—impulsive.  She could learn to control that.  And the way to achieve that control was to be around him.  Moreover, her impulsive reaction was only sexual.  The assignment she had given herself was to put Steve Kaselman and his eyes in the correct perspective.  After all, she was a mature woman.  She had been through this revisit to adolescence, and now it was time to fold it up and put it away in the drawer of fond memories.

A young, well-dressed woman sat on Royale’s left.  She had a digital recorder and clipboard filled with notes.  She turned on the recorder, punched up a clean file, and started writing.

Royale continued.  “Well, does anyone have anything to say before I outline the show?”

Fred spoke up.  “Royale, we want you to know how excited we are about meeting this challenge and resolving this baby crisis forever.  My client and, I’m sure, Mr. Kaselman, are eager to hear what you have to say.”

“Amen to that,” said Steve.

Royale beamed her TV smile.  “Well, good.  Good.  I’m excited too.” 

Royale got up and wandered around behind the conferees.  Paeton felt her approaching, then felt her hands on her shoulders.  “Paeton, I can’t honestly say I know how you feel.  I have no children of my own.  I helped my grandmother raise seven brothers and sisters, but the glory of having my own child, not yet.”