Scrambled Babies (42 page)

“Mommy, do I get to be on TV?” Madison asked, looking up from her video game.

“No, honey.  You stay here with Rosa.  This time only Kelsey and me.  You know I have to choose her when she and Ryan are onstage together, right?”

“Yes.  I don’t think that’s very hard.  I could do it.”

Paeton and Rosa laughed quietly.  They exchanged knowing looks.  Ah, the beauty of children.  Paeton bent over and kissed Madison.  “I love you, Maddy.”

“I love you too, Mommy.  May I have another cookie?  When’s Steve coming?”  She got up and walked toward the table holding the food.

“Okay.  One more.  Rosa will help you.  I don’t know, honey.”

The door opened abruptly and Greta entered carrying Ryan.  Paeton jumped to her feet.  “Where’s Steve?”

“Hi, Paeton.  I’m glad we finally meet in person after all our phone calls.  Steve sent me on ahead with Ryan so he could run if he had to.  His meeting is taking longer than expected.  But he said not to worry, that he’d be here in time to be next to you when you two had to choose a baby.”

Paeton’s heart wrenched painfully.  She recognized the familiar pattern unfolding.  Twice before her heart had been broken by jocks who sent words and little else.  Not that her heart would be broken.  It was too late for that.  But somewhere in the deepest regions of her soul, she wanted Steve to be different.  She didn’t want him to be, as he would put it, “strike three and you’re out!”

After an awkward moment, Paeton spoke.  “I apologize for not introducing myself that miserable day I found out Steve had bought my house.  I appreciate how helpful you’ve been on the phone.”

Greta flushed.  “Yes, that was a memorable day.”  She reached out and took one of Paeton’s hands.  “Steve is still feeling guilty about that.”

Paeton tried to respond politely, but her thoughts were entirely focused on the probability that Steve was not going to be here for the moment of truth.

Then she remembered she hadn’t introduced Rosa.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  Greta, this is Rosa, my nanny.  Rosa, this is Greta.”

“Pleased to meet you, Greta.”

“Likewise, Rosa.”

Paeton returned to the situation at hand.  “It’s nearly air-time.  He should be here by now.”  This time Paeton took Greta’s hand.  “He’ll be here, right?  He won’t be a no-show?”

She felt Greta’s hand tighten on hers.  “You can count on Steve, Paeton.  He would never let you down.” 

Those were exactly the wrong words for Paeton.

Ring! 

Paeton grabbed for the studio phone on the table next to her as fear and hope wrestled within her.

“Hey, Paeton!  Is Greta there yet?”

“Steve!  Where the hell are you?  You said you’d be here.  I don’t want to do this alone.  It isn’t fair.  You should be on the chopping block too.  I mean it!”

Steve was on his cell phone.  “That’s why I called.  Paeton, I won’t be there—”

The phone went dead and so did her hopes.  “Steve!  No!”  All she thought she had done to prepare for being let down by Steve had been in vain.  She had been a victim of this terrible aloneness twice before—the feeling of being in a sealed room that was slowly being drained of oxygen.  Only this time, she felt threatened with complete asphyxiation.  In a cruel authentication, she was having trouble getting her breath. 
I won’t be there!

Why had she ever come back?  The purple magic-marker heart had tricked her.  She had returned to L.A. because deep in her soul, she secretly believed that “Paeton + Steve” was the truth.  Now the truth she faced was that she was being sucked into a whorl of destruction by the same kind of man Destiny had always given her: a jock who would ultimately leave her—alone!

For the first time in Paeton’s life, she had met something stronger than she was.  Something, even with all her strength and resolve, she couldn’t overcome.

She sank back in her chair, all feeling ebbing from her body, and gave up.  This was truly the end!

“Paeton?  What’s wrong?”  Greta was leaning over her.

Paeton couldn’t speak.  Nothing mattered anymore.

“What’s the matter, Mommy?  Are you sick?  Where’s Steve?  Is he coming?”

Everything was out of focus, as if her eyes were looking through a camera that was zooming in and out, in and out.

Knock, knock. 

The door opened.  “You’re on now, Ms. McPhilomy.”

No feeling had returned to Paeton’s legs.  She couldn’t move.

“Ms. McPhilomy?  We need you onstage now, please.”  A stagehand in torn jeans and scraggly beard was coming toward her.

Greta stood up, taking hold of Paeton’s left hand.  “Come on, Paeton.  It’s okay.  Steve will be here any second.”

Rosa
stood as well, grasping Paeton’s other hand.

Paeton left her body.  She looked down on herself, watching her body move but not understanding how she was doing it.  She saw her mouth open to utter words.  “No.  He won’t.  He said—‘I won’t be there!’”

Greta stammered.  “But that’s not possible.  He told me a few minutes ago that he would be here no matter what.”

Paeton returned to her body, submitting to the inevitable.  “Well, ‘no matter what’ came and went, and he won’t be here.  I figured as much!  I have to do this alone—again!”

Greta screwed her face up.  “What do you mean ‘again’?”

The stagehand kept checking his watch.  “Excuse me, ladies, but we have a show to do.  I’m going to be in a world of hurt if I don’t get Ms. McPhilomy onstage right now.”

Greta raised her hand to silence the man.  “We can do this, Paeton.  Let’s get you onstage.  The bum will burst in here in time.  Trust me.”

“Is Mommy all right?”  Madison was on the verge of tears.

Paeton laughed blankly again.  “He’s got you fooled too.  But for you, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, honey.  Mommy’s going to be fine.”  Rosa released Paeton’s hand.  “Here, Maddy.  You stay with me.”

Greta picked up both travelseats and urged Paeton down the hallway to the stage.  Paeton could hear the waiting studio audience laughing, applauding, and “ah-ing.”  She stopped short.  What was she feeling?  Fear?  Betrayal?  Emptiness
?

As she approached the entrance to the stage, she heard the studio audience laugh raucously again.  Then she felt something instinctive responding.  Audience?  She was a writer.  The world of reading people was her audience.  She had no fear of audiences.  She was in charge of audiences.  She directed her readers.  Readers didn’t direct her.  So what if this was a live audience?  She could still lead them where she wanted them to go.  Yes, Paeton McPhilomy, best-selling author, would take charge of her audience!

She stood up straighter.  She took both travelseats from Greta.  And she didn’t need Steve Kaselman to be there either.  A jock was a jock was a jock.  And no damn jock was going to make her look foolish ever again!  She realized no male could let her down unless she allowed him to
.  I am still in charge of my own destiny.  I will choose correctly.  I will win the National Single Mom of the Year competition.  I will write screenplays.  I will write novels.  I will never let myself down again! 
She tightened her grip on the travelseats until her fingers ached.
 I will learn to live without Mr. Steve Kaselman!

“Ladies and gentlemen, Paeton McPhilomy and Steve Kaselman and their two adorable yet almost identical babies!”  From halfway up an aisle, Royale orchestrated their grand entrance.

Huge applause.

Paeton composed herself as she strode down the stairs to the stage floor.  She found firmness and strength as she spoke.  “Not quite, Royale.  Mr. Kaselman called  a minute ago to say he won’t be here!”

Paeton could see the startled look on Royale’s face as she reached the stage carrying both children in their travelseats with her.

“Well, audience, if Steve Kaselman won’t be here, I guess Paeton McPhilomy will face this challenge alone.”

The words sliced like a knife, but Paeton clung tenaciously to her control.

“Booooo!”

Royale raised her hand for silence.  “Hold on for a minute, audience.  What you all came for will still take place.  Mr. Steedly Black,” a mixture of boos and yeas from the audience, “is waiting offstage and, in a few minutes, will complete his challenge to Paeton McPhilomy by attempting to identify the gender of the baby we choose.”  She turned to Paeton with a practiced smile.  “Paeton, will you put one child on that table where Wanda our assistant is standing, and the remaining child on the other.  Then be seated for a minute, please.”

Paeton had no idea what was going to happen next.  She did keep glancing backstage where Steve would come from if—
Forget him, Paeton!  He’s strike three, and you’re out of men! 

But for all her bravado, Steve’s words screeched in her head like fingernails on a blackboard—“I won’t be there!”

Royale moved the show forward.  “Many of you continue to view Paeton McPhilomy as a self-centered mother who can’t even recognize her own child.  Lately, I have gotten to know the inside of this successful writer.  This woman is a loving and caring mom.  I have to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, she gets my vote for National Single Mom of the Year.”  She lowered the mike and winked to the camera.  “That is, if she selects correctly today.”

The audience applauded. 

“But that’s not all.  We have two other surprise guests.  Please give a Royale welcome to April Bicklin, president of SMACK, Single Moms Against Cruelty to Kids.”

Oh, no!  She must be one of Royale’s “fun secrets!”  What is she doing here? 
Paeton watched apprehensively as a tough-looking woman in her twenties, about five feet tall, came from backstage.  She was wearing no makeup, a buzz cut, cutoffs, sneakers, and a T-shirt that proclaimed “Kids are animals too!”  She also had two-inch fingernails, each streaked a glossy black, and multiple rings piercing many exposed parts of her body.  She sported a tattoo of a child on one thigh and that of a puppy on the other.

“Hi, April.  Welcome to Royale.”

“Hi, Royale.  I’m happy to be here.”

“I have to ask you about your T-shirt.  I’m sure many members of our audience are curious too.  Children are animals too?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious, Royale.  My first children, so to speak, were my dogs.  I was never cruel to my dogs.  When I had a kid, well, I figured I’d treat it like I did my dogs—heck, children are animals too.”

Applause.

“Wonderful, April. Wonderful.  Do you know our other guest, Paeton McPhilomy?”

“Not personally, Royale.  But I’d love to meet her.  I’ve heard this story about her not knowing her own flesh and blood.  Personally, if it’s true, I think it’s a disgrace.”

“Thank you, April.  Would you take a seat next to Paeton?”

She makes a rude remark like that, and I have to sit next to her?
  Paeton slid as far from the SMACK leader as possible.

Royale turned to the stage again.  “And our next surprise guest is last year’s winner of the National Single Mom of the Year competition, Esther Kavaleski, utility-pole technician for Kansas Power and Light.”

Applause.

Great!  Even the guests are part of the wolf pack!
  Paeton watched Esther clump heavily down the stairs onto the stage, pumping her right arm, her fist clenched.  She was in her mid-thirties, six feet, cigarette-shaped, and wearing ankle-high boots, thick purple lipstick, an oversized T-shirt, an open fisherman’s vest, and tight, tattered jeans.  Her child was strapped to her front as he had been during her TV interview on “This Could Hurt.”  Her vest had at least fifteen pockets stuffed with everything a baby might need.