by Babe Hayes
Paeton walked up the quaint pathway to the front door, swinging the childseat at her side. The path had wonderful gardens on either side. Flowers, chosen for their color and fragrance, waved orange, yellow, and purple, and wafted cinnamon, lavender, and almond. Hand-carved into the huge teak door was a scene from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass—Alice talking to the White Rabbit as he looked at his watch.
As Paeton got inside, she realized the entire house and yard reflected the Alice theme. The mantelpiece surrounding the red brick fireplace was also teak. Carved wonderfully in bas-relief was the Mad Hatter’s silly tea party. The kitchen walls and ceiling bore paintings of the Caterpillar and the Cheshire Cat. The built-in seat in the breakfast nook had singing mushrooms carved into its base.
Madison ran around touching all the wooden characters. She pointed and laughed approvingly at the painted figures on the walls.
Paeton was enchanted. “Maddy, isn’t this a wonderful house?”
“Oh, yes. It comes with the Alice in Wonderland friends.” Madison was familiar with the Disney version of Alice. “Can we buy it, Mommy?”
“Yes, we probably will, honey.”
Paeton felt Fred nudge her and whisper, “Don’t sound so enthusiastic. We want the best price we can get.”
Paeton was never very good at negotiating. That’s why she needed an agent. She whispered back, “Okay, okay.”
Bryce hurried them outside. “The pool, the pool, the pool. You’ll love the pool.”
They all stood by an intriguing cartoon-heart-shaped pool. Playing-card Queen and King and servants were gazing up at them from the bottom. The diving board was the tusk of the Walrus’ head.
Paeton glowed. “Oh, Fred, I have to have this house. Isn’t it—perfect!” she finally exuded. She could see the dollar signs pinging in Bryce’s eyes.
Fred tried to remain unemotional. “Well, we might be interested in this home, Bryce.”
“Oh, yes. I thought so! I thought so! I thought so!” Bryce rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Fred barked out in a no-nonsense tone, “Okay, price, Bryce? And I mean our price, Bryce!”
Paeton could see Bryce’s banknote brain calculating the situation to arrive at the most money he could get from them. “To you? To you? To you?” He whipped out his calculator. Banged on it almost angrily. Looked up, a smile breaking out on his handsome face. “Cool mil!” He shoved his calculator back into his cutoffs. “Cool mil, cool mil!”
Fred folded his arms and angled his head like a heavy weapon. “Bryce!”
Bryce looked at Fred. Bryce looked at Paeton. He dug his calculator out of his cutoffs again. He pounded on the keys unmercifully, making a guttural sound at each stroke. He looked up to the sky several times between calculations. Finally, he sighed a salesperson sigh. “Fred, you’re too much. Too much. Too—”
Fred cut him off. “Bryce, I got it, okay? Our price?”
“Okay, maybe—maybe offer eight ninety! Eight ninety! Eight ninety! It’s listed at a million one. It’s easily worth a cool mil. But I would present an offer of eight ninety.” He flashed a pie-eating grin. Then his eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened. “But it’s not a full-price offer, you know. A better offer can beat it.”
Paeton cared not a whit about the negotiations. “Fred, I love it! The children will love it! How do I do an offer? And when will I know if it’s accepted?”
Fred glared at Bryce. “We’ll write the offer right now and give the owner twenty-four hours to respond.”
Bryce tapped his foot nervously. “We can write the offer now. But the owner is out-of-pocket on a safari. Won’t be back for a week. A week. A week.”
Paeton looked toward Fred for help. “Is that bad, Fred? How many offers are there on a house? If ours is first, don’t we get it?”
Bryce started to answer. Fred held up his hand. “Bryce has to present all offers to the owner. It’s possible someone may make another, better offer before the owner gets back.”
“Make the offer full price. Full price. Full price. Then no one can beat out your offer.” Bryce adjusted his expensive watch, checking the time. Time was money. “I can’t present it until the owner—”
“Okay, Bryce. How long has the house been on the market?” Bryce hesitated, playing with his sunglasses this time. Fred added forcefully, “I want the truth!”
“Okay, okay, okay. About—eighteen months.” Bryce mumbled the last two words.
“Eighteen months?” Fred laughed confidently. He turned to Paeton. “This house is what they call a dog, Paeton. It’s been on the market forever. Probably not expensive enough for the Hollywood set. A million dollars is not a lot of money out here.”
Paeton frowned. “A dog house? I’m buying a dog house because it’s not expensive? I don’t want an expensive house. I want this house. I don’t care if people think it’s a dog house or not. It’s charming. It’s wonderful. It’s us.”
Madison was confused. “Mommy, are we going to live in a dog house?”
Paeton laughed understandingly and bent to take Madison’s hand. “No, honey. We are buying an Alice in Wonderland house. Dog house is an expression grown-ups use for a house that hasn’t sold for a long time.” She turned to Fred. “I’ll do whatever you think we should do. Please don’t lose this house for me, Fred. I love this house. Madison loves this house. We’ll be heartbroken if we don’t get it.”
“Trust me, Paeton. No one but us will make an offer on this house—forever!” Fred chuckled some more. “Eighteen months. Ha!”
Bryce fidgeted with one of the gold chains around his neck. “Well, I hope you’re right. A full-price offer would be—”
Fred held up his hand again. “Eight ninety, Bryce. Let’s write it up.”
“Whatever you say. Whatever you say. Whatever you say.” And they all got back into the Ferrari and returned to the real estate office.
Twenty minutes later, Paeton signed an offer of eight hundred ninety thousand dollars for her Hollywood dream house—the Alice house!
The baby in the travelseat startled her with a cry. The cry brought a pang to her heart. Kelsey! Fred’s phone remained painfully inactive.
She checked her watch. She forced a cry of frustration back down her throat. It was seven thirty in California! It was ten thirty in Boston!
Paeton was still not hungry!
#
Steve checked his watch for the hundredth time in the past five minutes. He couldn’t get his hand to stop shaking. Ten fifteen. Doing the game was hard enough, but being so close to making contact with her and then getting a wrong phone number almost killed him!
Speaking of killing someone, he could wring Sophia’s neck! He had tried all kinds of variations of the numbers Sophia had given him, without success. He finally gave up after calling ten and striking out.
But at least he knew bewitching-mouth was somewhere in the Los Angeles area. He would figure something out.
He checked his watch. Pony should be here any minute. He knew he was grasping at straws, but maybe Pony could help. What a fluke that she was in town!
Still, Steve was beginning to be sorry he had called Pony to come to his office. He knew he was taking advantage of her devotion to him. He knew she would interpret it as romantic interest on his part. But the reason he had called her was he figured he needed a woman to talk to. And Pony was the only woman who would come to see him in Boston on a moment’s notice. She was the only woman, period. He hadn’t exactly been making the rounds lately. His guilt about taking advantage of Pony made him uncomfortably warm. Too bad! The unnerving circumstances demanded desperate measures.
Steve left the door to the office open so he could see Pony get off the elevator. The next time he looked up, there she was, breathless, coming down the hall.
The baby was asleep on the desk. He glanced at her on the way to greet Pony. Blip! His heart vaulted when he saw her little baby mouth. That mouth that would someday mature and reduce men to blithering idi
ots. Too bad Pony didn’t do that for him. He prepared himself for Pony’s onslaught. He could tell the way her face fell when she saw him that he was telegraphing his less than romantic mood.
“Yo, Stevie!” She tried to kiss him anyway, but she succeeded only in placing a glancing peck to the cheek. Immediately a pout began to form.
Steve smiled through his grimace. “Yo, Pony! Thanks for coming over so promptly. Let’s go in here.” Steve picked up the baby and led her into the chief editor’s office. The editor let part-timers use it for privacy.
Pony sulked in after him, scraping her high heels deliberately. “Promptly? Stevie, you make me sound like a business appointment. You know, Steverino, I’d beam myself to you anytime, anywhere! That is—if you’d let me!”
She went immediately over to the childseat. The little girl was awake now. “Oh, look at Ryan. What a beautiful little boy. Hi, Ryan. How is my favorite baby?”
Christ, she can’t tell the difference either.
“Hey, Steverino, this kid’s as famous as you are. The whole world—me included—heard him cry on TV.” Apparently, she had quickly gotten over the missed-kiss blues because she suppressed a giggle. Steve could feel the scowl on his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, Stevie.” Steve could feel her searching his face. “Uh, you bringing Ryan with you now? I thought Greta took care of him when you traveled.”
Steve tried to be more hospitable. After all, he was the one who called her. “Well, I’m turning over a new leaf, Pony. Remember how when I first got Ryan, I said I would do all the baby work myself? Then I found out I wasn’t up to it and hid the fact that I hired someone else to do it? I’m changing all that. I’m going to do it all myself now. Well, most of it.” He laughed. “You should have seen Vin’s face tonight when I brought the kid into the booth! He didn’t say anything, but his expression sure said it all.”
Pony perched on the desk next to “Ryan.” She peered into the childseat. “God, beautiful boy, Steverino.” She looked up. “Uh, Stevie, you called me over here to tell me that? I mean, it’s not that I mind or anything, but—”
“Okay, okay. You’re right. No, I didn’t bring you over here for that.” Steve started pacing. “Pony, here’s the deal. You’re a woman and—”
“Wow, Stevo, I was kind of hoping you’d get around to that!” She started to get off the desk, her arms extended.
“No, I mean, you know about babies. You’d know how a woman would feel if she lost her baby.”
“Lost her baby? Miscarriage? You know I’ve never even been pregnant, Stevie. But that’s one other thing I was thinking about. Maybe you and I—you know.” And she started to get off the desk again.
Steve turned his back on her for a moment. He was impatient with his inadequate questioning. “Okay. Okay. And no, not a miscarriage. Uh, let’s pretend someone took your baby.”
“Someone kidnapped my baby?”
Steve swallowed hard. “Uh, kidnapped. Yes, I guess that’s the appropriate, uh, term. Anyway, you’re a woman. You have instincts about stuff like this. Okay, here’s the picture. Let’s say you have a baby. You’re at a—a bus terminal. You—you set your baby down next to another baby. When you get on the bus, you take the wrong baby with you. Then when you find out you have the wrong baby and—”
Pony looked at Steve warily. “Steverino? Uh, Stevie, you okay? I’d do anything for you, you know that. But—what the hell are you talking about?” She cocked her head. “And, Steverie, I wasn’t going to say anything, but your eye is twitching like a son of a bitch, you know that?”
As Pony slid off the desk, her oversized, overstuffed purse fell to the floor. “Damn!” Pony knelt down to start shoving the contents back into it. Steve came around the desk to help.
Pony held up one hand. “It’s okay. I’ve got it, Stevo.”
Steve bent down anyway. He noticed a paperback book and picked it up. “The Sky Streaks of Black? What? This is a romance novel! Look at the cover, for god’s sake! You read romance novels, Pony?” He laughed gently. “Pony, the mod, former Olympic women’s swim team captain, the tough, hard-boiled fight announcer?” And this time he laughed harder. “You mean to tell me she reads girl books?”
Pony stayed down on her knees, red-faced. She looked up pleadingly. “Stevie, don’t tell! Please! I beg you—Stevo—please! They’ll laugh me out of the business! I’ll be ruined! Don’t tell, okay, Stevo? Please? I’ll do anything, Steverino! Anything, if only you don’t tell anybody!”
Steve smiled broadly. “Really? Well, for openers, you can limit your names for me to Steve—that’s S-T-E-V-E!”
“Steve—okay, Steve—got it! Anything, anything, honest to god! Okay, it’s Steve. From now on, I swear to—”
“And you can—” Steve absentmindedly turned the book to the back cover. There, bewitching back at him, was a photograph of Paeton McPhilomy! He let out a yelp. “Jesus Christ! It’s her! It is definitely her! Son of a bitch! That mouth—that son-of-a-bewitching mouth! There’s no way I wouldn’t recognize that one-of-a-kind, man-killer mouth!” And he made a sound as if he had sunk his teeth into a big bite of perfect prime rib. “Paeton McPhilomy! Romance writer!” Then the revelation came. “No wonder she—” Whoops! Watch what you say, Steve!
Steve watched Pony’s wide eyes keeping him in her sights as she got up. She kept her distance. Nothing about his interest in Paeton seemed to be overriding Pony’s fear of being exposed as a closet romance reader. “Steve, I swear to you. I will never again call you—”
But the point was that Paeton McPhilomy didn’t want bad publicity either. He laughed to himself. We both have been sitting on pins and needles waiting for the other to report the switch. He was safe now. Just as Paeton was. How amazing!
Steve tossed the novel on his desk and walked over to Pony with arms outstretched, stopping her in her tracks. She backed away some. “Stevo is okay, Pony. Stevie, Steverino, Stevisimo, Stevie-weevie, itty-bitty-pretty-Stevie—I don’t care, Pony. I love you, Pony! I love it that you read romance novels.” She was finally pressed against the wall. Steve grabbed her and gave her a big, fraternal kiss full on the mouth.
Pony stood motionless. Her baffled expression betrayed her complete confusion. Steve had kissed her, but he could see she knew he hadn’t really “kissed” her. She appeared to be evaluating the kiss as she wiped the back of her hand deliberately across her mouth.
Then she got back to the importance of protecting her tough reputation. “Anyway, okay, I’ll call you anything I want. I don’t get it, but okay. But you won’t tell, right? My secret is safe with you, right, Ste—vie?”
Suddenly she put her hand to her mouth again. “Hey, wait a minute—what’s wrong with my mouth?” Her tone betrayed that she was hurt or insulted, or both. “Wait a minute! How the hell do you know Paeton McPhilomy has a—how did you put it—a bewitching mouth?”
Steve picked up the book and showed Pony the back cover. “Here. Tell me, is that a great mouth?”
“Christ, I don’t know. I don’t go that way, Ste-vie. You should know that.” Pony paused thoughtfully. She tilted her head at him. “I can call you Stevie?”
Steve laughed warmly. “Yes, you can call me Stevie. And your secret? Safe with me, Pony. It might as well be locked up in Fort Knox.” Then he walked over to Pony, grabbed her by the elbows, and ushered her out of the office. “I’ll call you, Pony. Maybe we can have dinner when I get back.” He kept her moving through the cubicles until they stepped into the hallway.
“Dinner? Back? Jesus Christ, you just got here! Where’re you going now?”
“I’ll call you, Pony. And Pony—you’re the greatest!”
Pony craned her head around as he gently prodded her into the elevator. “I am?”
“I’m going to keep the book for a while, okay?”
“Sure, Steverino.”
“Who knows, I may even read it.”
He watched her perplexed face disappear behind the sliding elevator doors.
As Steve walked back to his office, he found himself humming “Everything’s Coming up Roses.” He got to his desk and looked at the book. He picked it up and opened it. He came upon the dedication.
“To Kevin. Darling, you left so suddenly. Thank you for all your support over the years. I hope you are watching as this book gives my readers joy. Rest in peace, sweetheart.”
Her husband is dead! Hmmm. He turned the book to the back cover again. What a mouth! If the rest of her is anything like—
He opened the back cover. There was a brief biography. “Paeton McPhilomy, the mother of two girls, lives in New York City where she crafts her tales of romance. She has been telling stories for years, but recently has joined the—” Steve closed the book.
So she lives in New York. That means she’s in L.A.only temporarily. Is she on business? Visiting someone? Where is she staying? A hotel? A friend’s house?
Steve looked at Paeton McPhilomy’s little girl, waving her baby arms vigorously and making tiny bubbles. He bent down and gave her a special kiss right next to her soon-to-become-bewitching mouth. I don’t know your name yet, sweetheart. But I know who you are, and we’ll be talking to your mommy real soon. He took his first full, semirelaxed breath since that astounding diaper change. “Real soon!” he said out loud, liking the notion of some good news for a change.
Suddenly he put his hand to his eye. Damn! Was his twitch reminding him that one piece of good news nevertheless left him with “third down and a hundred yards to go”?
#
“The jerk never called! It’s eight o’clock, for god’s sake. I can’t believe it! How could I have made it any clearer who I was?”
Paeton was roaming frantically about in her hotel suite. They had recently returned from InKredabal Real Estate. It was a few minutes past eight. Eleven o’clock in Boston! Two hours after the game had ended! Fred was already on his second martini and looking into the bottom of that glass.
“What is the matter with this guy?” She stopped short. “Okay, that does it! I’m going to his office myself!”
“You’re what?” Fred did a spit-take into his martini.