Scrambled Babies

by Babe Hayes

  Fred went over to Paeton and took her by the shoulders. He started to say something, but she leaned into his chest. “Fred? Kaselman will call, right? I can’t take much more of not being in touch with the person who has Kelsey.”

  Fred pushed her gently back. “We’ve made it this far, sweetheart. He’ll probably pick up his messages soon after the game, call us, and we’ll meet and exchange babies. All done. Let’s see, it’s about five-fifteen. About two hours, Paeton. Hang on for two more hours. Come on, let’s have some fun finding a house for your family. I’ll call downstairs to get us a car. There’s a Taco Bell on the way. At least Maddy and I can get a bite. Sure you’re not hungry? You should eat.”

  “I’ll eat after Kaselman calls. I’m too jumpy right now.” Paeton folded her arms tightly in front of her. “And he’d better call!”

  Chapter 3

  Oh, my god! This isn’t my kid!

  Steve Kaselman was in the restroom on a commuter flight from New York to Boston to be color man for the Red Sox for the evening baseball game. He stood over the exposed face of a baby he expected to be his! The resemblance was uncanny, but he did know his own kid—and this baby wasn’t his kid!

  What have I done? How is this possible? Where would I get someone else’s—And then when he opened the diaper—Wait just a goddam minute! A girl? This is a girl! What in the living hell is going on? Whose baby is this? Where the hell is Ryan? Jesus Christ, what have I done? Kidnapped someone’s kid?

  He tried to clear his memory. Was there any time he let go of Ryan’s childseat? He made a rule to never let Ryan be out of his sight and, when in an airport or wherever, never let go of the childseat. Wait a minute! That amazing moment keeping a gorgeous mother from tripping over some kids running around in the airport! She grabbed my arm—I set Ryan down to keep her from falling—our eyes—oh, god, our eyes locked—hold it! She had to set her childseat down too! And she had a killer mouth! Christ, this is killer-mouth’s little girl who, except for the sex equipment, could pass for Ryan!

  Steve was fascinated by a female twin of Ryan. He looked closely at the baby’s face. He recognized the minute distinctions that made this baby not his. But the kid’s face was covered with the blanket until he began to change her diaper. Cryin’ out loud, Steve, you should have been more careful picking up the childseat! Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? He knew damn well why he had been careless. He had locked eyes with—god, what a mouth! She had turned him into a blithering idiot. He’d been walking around as if he had OD’d on hormones ever since they’d locked eyes.

  He analyzed the situation for a moment. So there’s no real kidnapping going on here. It’s all a crazy mistake. Just a real—or should I say—“unreal”—trip! He laughed again. The little lady smiled back.

  Damn! He felt a tug at the corner of his left eye. The twitch that took three months to subside after Crystal left him was back. He felt his face grow hot and his mouth go dry. He finished diapering the child—a little girl who wasn’t his!

  His pulse raced as it used to when he saw a defensive end closing in on him. But where in the world is Ryan? What in god’s name do I do?

  Then a hollow laugh escaped him—someone else was discovering, or soon would be discovering, exactly what he had just discovered! Someone would eventually have to be peering down, unbelieving, at Ryan’s manhood instead of—!

  But it wasn’t funny! It was spooky as hell! Still, he couldn’t suppress another feeble laugh. Let’s face it—this is hysterically funny! I only wish I were watching it in a movie! I could never have dreamed up anything this nutso!

  But he wasn’t watching it in a movie. He was living it in an airplane. And the reality he was facing was that, technically, he had kidnapped someone’s little girl. Bad things happened to people who did things like this. Damn it, Steve! Get serious. You’ve got someone else’s kid, for god’s sake! The woman with Ryan must be going crazy! Of course, technically, she had kidnapped Ryan.

  Women always went bonkers at things like this. Not that this wasn’t a big thing. But he was glad he didn’t have a wife right now. She’d be clawing the door to the front cabin, demanding that the captain turn the plane around and go back to find her baby.

  His twitch persisted. He studied the child’s face, shaking his head in disbelief at how identical this baby was to Ryan. Steve replayed the scene with the woman at the airport. We both ended up with the babies on the floor so I could catch her when those kids ran into her. She grabbed my arm for support, and I set Ryan down to steady her. Yes, that must have been how it happened.

  He looked at the travelseat and blanket again. Now that he thought about it, they were identical to Ryan’s. So he and the woman both shopped at Bloomingdale’s. They had identical kids. He wondered what else they had in common.

  Then Steve realized what they didn’t have in common—this woman wasn’t a national figure. So this woman, this assuredly panic-stricken woman, would call the cops as soon as possible. Probably already had. This woman would have no idea how a screw-up like this could affect his career. Chances were optimal that the media would have a field day with this one. He envisioned the papers: “Steve ‘America’s Mr. Mom’ Kaselman, nationally famous syndicated sports columnist and announcer, can’t tell his boy from a girl!”

  The tug at his eye grew stronger and more persistent. Calm down, Steve, old boy. Calm down. This is pretty scary, but you can handle it. You’ve handled screwy things in the past. Nothing this screwy, but—

  “Hey, buddy, you ever coming out of there?” called a thick Long Island accent outside the door.

  “Hold your horses. Hold your horses. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  A sound of exasperation came in reply.

  He was back at the airport again. Christ, what held our eyes like that? And her mouth—son of a bitch, I wanted that mouth! I couldn’t look away to pick up Ryan. I just reached down and—oh, oh! I did it! I picked up her kid! Those damn kids tearing around like that must have kicked the childseats around.

  Then he berated himself. Wait a second! Don’t blame yourself so quickly. It could have been her fault. Can’t she keep track of her own kid, for god’s sake? Wait until I finally meet her! I’ll tell her a thing or two! She could cost me my career! She’s the woman, for god’s sake!

  This felt good! He found his hands on his hips, his face jutted forward, telling this woman off. Yeah! I paid attention. I saw that I had picked up that damned overpriced stuff I bought at Bloomingdale’s! Who would think to check if the babies were different? She’s a real mom. She’s supposed to notice stuff like picking up the wrong kid. He laughed again. This time nervously. Why couldn’t he stop laughing?

  The little girl smiled and made gurgling sounds. “Hey, you’re a laugher too. But I have to tell you this isn’t funny right now. Maybe after I meet your mommy and we switch you kids back, it’ll be funny. Right now your mom is definitely scared to death. And that is not funny. I don’t want you to think I’d laugh at that. Okay?”

  The baby smiled back to his announcer-quality voice.

  Steve focused on the infant girl. Studied her features. Jesus Christ! It’s the truth—this kid could pass for Ryan’s twin! If this gets out, the media will have a field day! Then he paid particular attention to the infant’s mouth. His pulse jumped. There it is! That mouth! She’s going to bewitch some guy totally the way her mother bewitched me!

  The switching of the babies, the magic something that had passed between his and the woman’s eyes—the whole incident was the most bizarre—and he had to face it, sexiest—thing that had ever happened to him! Steve wondered if he and bewitching-mouth could get past this blunder. Was it possible that the two of them?—Naw! Come on, Steve, are you nuts? A woman that amazing? She’s got to be married, for god’s sake!

  The baby girl issued a sweet cooing sound, bringing Steve back to the situation at hand. The grave situation at hand.

  The amusement was over. This was not a fabulous prank concocted by one of his bu
ddies at the network. It was a serious goddam screw-up, and he needed to pay attention to keep the fallout as minimal as possible. His eye twitched again in response to his thoughts.

  He returned to the necessary resolution of the screw-up. Okay, first, he had to discover if the “kidnapping” had hit the media. Second, Ryan was probably in as good hands as this kid was. Well, no, probably in better hands, as a matter of fact—a woman’s. Steve still changed a diaper with some lack of natural flair. A football he handled with artistry. A three-month-old boy—well, admittedly, not as well.

  So all he had to do was find this woman, get an apology from her for causing such grief, and get the right kid back into the right hands. Except, of course, I’m left-handed! He grinned. Then frowned. You’ve got to stop that! This is serious guano, you moron! Your entire career could go in the toilet if you’re not careful!

  Then Steve reverted to sports analogies the way he always did under pressure. He felt the immensity of the occurrence “crash through the line.” It was a huge, ugly, grinning, three-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound defensive tackle! When this hits the airwaves, the network will go ballistic. Even though she caused the mix-up, who would believe that? You’re going to get blamed, Steve—you’re the man! No one in the world is going to believe that a mother could pick up the wrong kid. Who could do such a thing? The uncaring male! That’s who! All preoccupied with his job and crap like that. You kidnapped a child, you man, you! You’re responsible for causing this woman untold grief and emotional damage, even though it was simply an honest mistake. You are in big trouble, Steve, baby!

  He felt perspiration break out on his upper lip. Son of a bitch, I’ll not only lose my job, but she’ll sue me for emotional distress! How the hell did I let this happen? That goddam gorgeous mouth! That’s how it happened. She should be kept in a convent with a mouth like that! Son-of-a-bitching lethal weapon, for god’s sake!

  “Buddy, I’m calling the flight attendant if you aren’t out of there in one minute. I mean it. How long can a guy wait?”

  Damn New Yorkers! “Okay, okay. I’m coming out.” Steve opened the door, not certain he was ready to face the fierce double-overtime that seemed to be looming at the end of this “ball game.”

  #

  When he reached the children’s department at Bloomingdale’s, he noticed that the clerk behind the counter wasn’t bad. She was also wearing a wonderful fragrance. He particularly noticed her mouth. She had a great smile. Steve never missed a woman’s mouth. Her body also beckoned him. She had a body like Crystal’s, actually. Long torso, firm breasts, and great rear. But her face wasn’t Crystal’s. Let’s applaud that particular fact.

  Steve’s mission at Bloomingdale’s was to buy a childseat suitable for air travel to Boston where he was the color man for the Boston Red Sox. There was no way he could continue leaving Ryan behind with his nanny, Greta, when he traveled to do games. Not and still maintain the role he had publicly professed and the media had dubbed him, America’s Mr. Mom. So Steve needed to start taking Ryan with him to keep up appearances. But Steve didn’t want Greta traveling with them. Talk about cramping his style. So he would hire the professional nanny services provided by the hotels.

  “May I help you?” offered the woman with the beckoning mouth and body behind the counter.

  “Uh, yes, yes, you can. I’m looking for a childseat that works on a jetliner. Do you have anything like that?”

  “Well, sir, all the auto seats will work on planes as well.” Her smile was certainly warm. He fought back his natural desire to become interested in her. Once is enough!

  “Oh, is that right? My car has one built in, so I—”

  “Well, in that case, this is the latest in child travelseats, sir. It’s from the Zoo Kingdom line. They make the finest in children’s apparel and accessories. But I’m sure you are already aware of that. What do you think?”

  Steve focused on her mouth. Good-looking and a damn good salesperson too. Steve reluctantly moved his eyes from the clerk’s mouth to the seat. It looked okay to him. He didn’t really know what “the latest” meant. Probably more money than the previous model. But if that’s what today’s upbeat mothers were buying, then that would work for him.

  “Hmm. Cute little animals all over it.” Steve picked up the seat and checked it over as if he knew what he was looking for. “It looks fine to me. I’ll take it. How much is it?”

  “Two hundred fifty-nine ninety-five and with tax”—. She hit a few buttons on her register. “Two hundred sixty-eight thirty-seven. Will that be charge or cash?”

  Steve’s attention was cornered by her mouth again. She certainly had a fabulous smile. “Uh, charge.” Three hundred bucks for a travelseat? What’s the damn thing do, change diapers automatically? “Yes, charge, please.”

  “May I have your card, sir?”

  Steve dug into his pocket for his wallet and extracted his charge card. His Bloomingdale’s charge card. I’m probably getting taken again. I really don’t have the time to read up on this stuff. I guess it’s what I deserve for shopping here.

  The salesclerk’s perfume came across the counter again. Mmm! That damn perfume is dangerous. He handed his charge card to the great-smelling woman. He noticed how fine her hands were. Nails not too long. Fingers slender and well cared for. No garish nail polish. Stop it, Steve! You’re asking for trouble. I know I really need a mother for Ryan, but the women all want to get married!

  “Thank you, Mr. Kaselman. It’ll be only a minute. By the way, have you seen the matching blanket that goes with the Zoo Kingdom travelseat? Most moth—” she corrected herself, “most people who buy the seats also buy the matching blanket. It has a little hook that—” and she demonstrated how the blanket hooked securely to the seat to keep the little one from kicking it off and perhaps unwittingly chilling itself. “See? What do you think?”

  Much as he fought it, Steve had no sales or any other resistance for—he searched to find her name badge—Yvonne. “Great! Great! Yes, I can see I definitely need a matching blanket. How much is that, Yvonne?”

  She hit a few buttons again. “That will be one hundred forty-six fifty-six, including tax.”

  “Go for it. You’ve made a sale, Yvonne.” He liked saying her name. He hadn’t said a woman’s name since Crystal left him. He had made some kind of weird vow. Now he was breaking the vow and lowering his resistance to attractive women. How long had it been? Eight months since he’d had a woman in bed?

  Yvonne had finished ringing up the sale. She was putting the blanket in a bag. The childseat came in the manufacturer’s box. Yvonne! She was the first female to stir Steve since Crystal. Does this mean I—?

  “Here is your blanket, Mr. Kaselman. Thank you for shopping Bloomingdale’s.”

  Steve took the package slowly. “Yes. Yes. And thank you for the help,” and he said her name again, “Yvonne.”

  “It will be a pleasure anytime I can help you, Mr. Kaselman. Please visit me again.”

  “Yes. I will. I definitely will. Thank you.” Steve took his packages, gave Yvonne a covert, wistful glance, and walked out of Bloomingdale’s with the latest in children’s travelseats.

  As he pushed through the revolving door, the image of Yvonne tarried foremost in his mind. Yet he doubted if he could ever find a woman he would seriously consider marrying.

  #

  Steve emerged from the restroom, balancing the girl baby on his left forearm. Long-Island-accent flustered in as soon as there was enough space for his broad behind. The man mumbled something unintelligible about not knowing a baby was in there and closed and locked the door behind him.

  Steve looked down the aisle. Did he have guilt written all over his face? He got that awful feeling people have when they do something wrong and are sure everyone knows, although, in this case, that knowledge would be impossible for anyone but Steve to have. Guilty feeling or not, he wasn’t about to cause an uproar on the plane. He was going to keep the baby screw-up a secret as long as possible
. He was hoping that the woman who had his baby was thinking the same thing. But the chances of that happening were slim to nil. His—their—screw-up was probably splashed all over the national news by now. Bewitching-mouth would report having his kid and would be calling the police to reclaim hers. After all, she was the woman in the situation. She had nothing to worry about.

  Damn! What a time to be up in an airplane and not be able to hear the news! For all he knew, the “kidnapping” story was on every wire in the country! Steve! Get a grip! You didn’t do anything wrong—just stupid! Hell, maybe you didn’t do anything at all! Maybe the network will understand. He exhaled through pursed lips. Fat chance! This kind of thing made the media big-time, and careers went right down the tubes!

  Steve’s mind raced. He would like to call Maury, his agent. But how could he talk with any privacy on an airplane full of people even in first class? Why hadn’t he thought to call Maury when he was in the restroom? But, then, how can you think of anything at all when you discover you have someone else’s kid!

  He checked his watch. He figured they’d be in the air for another twenty minutes before landing at Logan International. Then he had to race to the newspaper to make his article deadline, do his five o’clock network sportscast on remote, and make it to the stadium by six to do the color portion of the game.

  Suddenly, his cell phone went off. Everyone in first class turned to look at him. I thought I silenced that thing! Oh my god, this is it! This is Maury telling me I am in big trouble.

  “Hi, lover!” Steve was surprised to hear a woman’s voice at the other end.

  “Pony?” So he was going to get the news from Pony. He could think of people he’d rather hear it from. Well, actually, he wasn’t really ready to hear it from anyone.

  “Who else, baby boy? How are things at thirty thousand feet? Not as exciting as on cloud nine with me, right, Stevo?”

  “Pony, for crissake, what the hell are you calling me for?”