Scrambled Babies

by Babe Hayes

Chapter 8

  Paeton was on the phone the minute she reached her suite, her jaws tight in anger.

  “Mr. Hollister’s office, may I help you?”

  “Megan, this is Paeton. I really need to talk to Fred—right now!”

  “Yes, Paeton. Fred wants to talk to you too.” Paeton flinched at the foreboding tone in Megan’s voice.

  “Is something wrong?” Paeton found herself trading tight jaws for wet palms.

  There was an unnerving silence at Megan’s end. “Uh, I’ll get Fred on the line.”

  The home of her dreams had been ripped from her only moments ago. Now what?

  “Paeton?” Fred interrupted her thoughts. “I’m sorry, baby, but it’s out!” Fred sounded dismally somber. He sounded as if he had voiced “We’ve picked out lilies for your casket piece!”

  “What’s out?” She had never heard Fred so grim.

  “Front page. In Your Face. You two look and sound pretty ludicrous.”

  “Oh, my god!” The same horrible helpless feeling that had enveloped her when she first uncovered Ryan’s manhood came crashing back! Her whole body felt numb, useless. Steve’s purchase of the Alice house seemed suddenly unimportant.

  Fred continued with the crushing news. “The whole story. How you mixed up the kids at the airport. How, just to preserve your careers, neither of you reported the kidnapping to the authorities. And they used the word ‘kidnapping.’ The photo of you two pulling off your disguises is really humorous if the story weren’t so damning. Christ, they even have your conversation at the airport!”

  “They had us bugged?”

  “No, electronic listening devices, Paeton. It’s the twenty-first century.” Fred now sounded a little impatient.

  Paeton talked through her cotton mouth. “But how—?” Then she gasped at the image that bolted to her mind—lavender shoelaces! How could she not have made the connection? Steedly Black, lying under that newspaper. Hidden camera, hidden listening devices! How could she and Steve have been so unobservant? They had been failures at checking the “zones” after all.

  “Don’t worry, I’m already talking to our publicist trying to figure a way to respond. I’ve been getting calls all morning.” Fred continued to sound grim.

  “How about our lawyer?” Paeton was looking for some good news. “Can’t we sue the pants off them for invasion of privacy?”

  “The big problem is you’re both celebrities. That means you’re newsworthy. You can’t sue for invasion of privacy if you’re what the law calls newsworthy. I’m working on every angle I can, Paeton, believe me. Have you spoken to Kaselman lately? You two need to work together on this.”

  Paeton knew Fred didn’t realize how touchy a subject Kaselman had recently become. The scene from a few minutes ago blazed through Paeton’s mind. “Yes, I have. And that’s why I called you. I have another problem. My Alice house—” and she fought back the tears in her voice, “my Alice house has been bought by that—that snake!”

  “What snake?”

  “Steve Kaselman, that’s what snake!” Paeton was livid. Her body came alive again.

  “Kaselman bought that house? That’s not possible!” Fred sputtered.

  “You heard me. They’re both snakes—Thryce and Mr. Mom! That son of a b—” and she saw Madison listening, “no good, rotten—I’m so mad and so heartbroken, Fred. I’m at a loss to—”

  “Paeton. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how that could have happened. That house was on the market for—” Fred now sounded glum as well as grim. “I know you’re mad at me because you trusted me. It’s that—”

  Paeton knew she shouldn’t be mad at Fred. He had no control over those two weasels. Now she had three weasels in her life—Kaselman, Thryce, and Black! Until JFK there were none. Paeton longed for her life before the ill-fated gaze. How could so much havoc be born from something so innocuous on its face?

  “I’m not mad at you, Fred. I know you thought the house was secure. That totally goes to show you what my life has become. I have people waiting at airport terminals to sabotage me. And now you want me to work with a person who, simply to spite me, bought the house I loved?”

  “Bought it to spite you? How do you know that? Did you tell him you were buying that house?”

  Paeton hesitated. “Not exactly.” Then hurrying to justify her accusation, “I did say I was buying a home in Beverly Hills.”

  Paeton heard Fred make a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding grunt. Then he said, “You have to admit, Paeton, that’s not enough to bring in a guilty-of-spitefulness verdict. And besides, what has he got to be spiteful about? I thought you two were back to lives without each other now.”

  Paeton ignored the real question. “It’s a woman’s house, for heaven’s sake! How could a former all-American quarterback buy a house with rabbits and Mad Hatters and heart-shaped—I can’t understand it.”

  “I think you have to agree with me that he must have bought the house for some other reason than to spite you.”

  “So you’re telling me Kaselman and I apparently like the same dog house.” She heard Fred laugh. “Fred, how can you laugh at a time like this? I have to find another home now. And there will never be another Alice house.”

  “Sorry, Paeton. I’ll look into a new real estate agent to find another house. But our immediate concern is your future career. I know you loved that house, but we’ll have to worry about that later.”

  “There is no ‘another house,’ Fred.”

  “I know, I know, Paeton. Bryce probably was unethical, but no sense in trying to sue him. That’s the lousy real estate business. Pissing contests. I didn’t dream anyone else would want that house.”

  “It was a beautiful house, Fred! I fell in love with that house! I—” She could feel the swell of pain and outrage rising again. “Fred, I have to hang up.”

  “Yeah, me too. Try to be positive. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Thanks, Fred. I don’t blame you. Oh, before you go, did Christian call or anything? I mean, I still have a contract to write the screenplay, right? This baby-switch splash won’t kill my screenplay-writing career, will it?”

  “No, I haven’t heard from Christian yet.”

  “Yet? Do you expect to hear from him?” Paeton felt her spirits sinking lower and lower. How much more could go wrong?

  “Well, I don’t know, Paeton. This is an embarrassment. Christian is a businessman. He will assess the possible effect of the story on the box office. But it’s too early to assess anything. Everything depends on how you and Kaselman survive this public scandal.”

  “Public scandal? That’s what this is? Wow!” Paeton was reaching for her reserves. She was hurt, angry, and feeling sick to her stomach. But that didn’t mean she was lying down in defeat. Only once in her life had she ever given up on something: that time after the six years of trying to have a baby. Otherwise, Paeton McPhilomy never quit!

  Her fighting instinct began to build. Bring on all the weasels: Bryce Thryce, Steve Kaselman, Steedly Black. And all the non-weasels: Christian, Fred, her angry public! All of them! She would show everyone the mettle Paeton McPhilomy was made of!

  “I’m sorry, Paeton. Listen, get a copy of In Your Face. Read the story. Call me with any ideas. We’ll get things straightened around. Not to worry.” Fred’s voice still rang doomsday.

  “Right! Not to worry. But I get the distinct feeling from your voice, Fred, that you’re watching my hopes of any kind of future for my career go up in smoke. You sound as if my career may have come to an abrupt and ugly conclusion.”

  “Well, this is serious, kid.”

  “Then don’t feed me platitudes! If it’s serious, don’t tell me everything will be all right as if I’m ten years old! I’m angry and upset, but I’m not folding up my tent and sneaking away into the night. I’m a fighter, Fred, you know that.”

  “Of course, Paeton. Sorry. Good, good. We’ll meet this thing head on. Maybe when we join forces with Kaselman, we—”

  “Join fo
rces with Steve Kaselman? Are you kidding? He fights his own battles! I’ll have nothing more to do with that underhanded house-stealer!” Fred didn’t respond. “Fred? What are you thinking?”

  “Paeton, face it. The hard truth is you have everything to do with Steve Kaselman.”

  “I do?” What Paeton couldn’t understand was why some inner voice was whispering that in spite of everything she believed about Kaselman’s motive for buying the house, she fancied the sound of Fred’s words. “I hate that s.o.b.! I want nothing to do with him!”

  “Paeton, don’t be unreasonable. You just said you weren’t a child. Well, you’re acting like one now. You two must team up to beat this thing. You both have to tell the same story. Maybe have a press conference together. The fact is you two are inextricably entangled.”

  “That’s the way it is, huh? I’m forced to, uh, work with Steve Kaselman.” If I have to work with him, is there anything good about him besides his eyes? And his touch? The truth was she wasn’t sure. But the truth was she certainly wanted there to be.

  “I’m afraid so, Paeton. Listen, I’m wanted on the other line. Get the article. Read it and call me. Bye, kid.”

  “Bye, Fred.” Paeton hung up the phone pensively. Me and Kaselman, huh? Okay! But after we beat this nonsense, he’s out of my life for good! Back to separate lives, separate worlds. Why was she having so much trouble convincing herself?

  As Paeton hung up, she contemplated her next move. She had lost her new home. She was the laughingstock of the country as a mother. She had started over on her screenplay. She decided to resolve the house-stealing enigma first.

  She couldn’t dispel her belief that somehow Steve Kaselman had bought the Alice house to spite her. That he did it to show her how un-jock he could be, he bought a house of whimsy that no self-respecting all-American quarterback would ever set foot in, much less own!

  Then Paeton wondered what it meant if he really had loved the same “dog” house. Was he corny in the same way she was corny? Why in god’s name would a true-blue jock buy a “little girl’s” house? Because that’s what it was. A house portraying a little girl lost in a fantasyland, trying to find her way home. Rabbits carved on front doors. Heart-shaped swimming pools. Statues of Caterpillars and Mad Hatters and the Queen of Hearts. Why on earth did he buy that house?

  But most upsetting was that Paeton found she liked him for it. That is, if he bought it for reasons other than to spite her. And that feeling made her doubly mad at him! She had to admit there was no way he could have known she wanted the house—unless Thryce had told him!

  There it was! That disgusting weasel had blabbed the information that Paeton had made an offer on the house. That is the only reason Steve, er, Kaselman would have bought it. Fred was wrong. Kaselman was getting back at her!

  Then again, maybe she was wrong. When she thought about it, what reason did he have to prove anything to her? He had shown no interest in extending their relationship since they returned from Chicago. “Neighbors?” That’s all he had said. Maybe he loved the house too. Was that possible? He hadn’t displayed any deceitful side as yet. Was she punishing him just because he found the house too? But was the real culprit that snake Thryce?

  Right now she had no answers for too many questions. Her non-future with Steve Kaselman was looking increasingly like a very distasteful future currently compounded by the In Your Face article. She knew Fred was correct in positing that Paeton and Steve must confront the outrageous allegations as a single, united force.

  She had to get In Your Face and read the story for herself. There was no way a sleazy publication was going to sink her ship. If they thought because she was a romance writer she was all fluff and lavender, they were in for a big surprise!

  She collapsed in a chair and stretched out her arms and legs to survey the parts of her body. She felt as if she’d been shot full of holes, but didn’t know exactly where the bullets had entered.

  #

  Steve couldn’t stop shaking his head in disbelief! There they were, all four of them. The In Your Face headline tattled, “CELEBS KEPT SCRAMBLED BABIES A SECRET!”

  Steve had bought the paper when he and Greta stopped at a supermarket on the way back to the hotel from the crazed-Paeton incident at the new house. He had raced out of the store, forcing himself to wait to read the article in the privacy of his hotel suite.

  Now he had it spread out before him on the table. His eye twitched as he read the finger-wagging photo caption: “Paeton McPhilomy and Steve Kaselman finally get back their own infants after scrambling the babies at JFK International, keeping them away from their natural parents for days!”

  Steve felt at once sickened and furious. He turned the page. Son of a bitch! There smiling dumbly at him was ponytail in a photo captioned “Eugene Small, Los Angeles cab driver, knew celebs’ secret!” Small had tipped Black, and old Steedly had put it all together. Steve continued reading the rest of the damning story.

  Well, now it’s out, Paeton and Steve. And both of you should be ashamed of yourselves! You have some hard questions to answer to your fans! First, how is it possible for such “splendid” parents not to know immediately that you had someone else’s baby? Second, what kind of cancerous devastation, including psychological, emotional, spiritual, and sexual, will fester in the tiny hearts and minds of your children from this pernicious, unnatural experience?

  This reporter caught them in the act of secretly unscrambling the babies so that no one would discover their contemptible behavior. But now you, our loyal readers, and the rest of the caring world know the truth!

  In Your Face readers, I’ll bet you and this reporter will see some fancy footwork as they try to explain this one! Let’s watch and see!

  And you can count on this dedicated reporter and this proud newspaper to bring you all details pertaining to this explosive story of celebrities who are so self-centered and career-orientated that they put their public images ahead of the spiritual and psychological well-being of their infant children.

  Blindsided again! That son-of-a-bitching Black was there after all! Steve threw the paper down, splaying it all over the floor. Damn!

  “Steve? You doing okay in there?” Greta called supportively from the balcony, where she had tactfully retreated while Steve read the article.

  “Yeah. I’m still breathing.”

  “Sorry.”

  He walked to the balcony door. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m—I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never been in a spot like this before.”

  “Well, you’ve got two people right here on your side.” Ryan babbled his affirmation. “Why don’t you call Maury? He’ll know what to do.”

  “Good idea. Thanks.” He turned away and approached the telephone.

  Actually, his first impulse was to call Paeton and join forces. But from the way she stormed away from him a few minutes ago, that option didn’t look too promising. Besides, maybe she hadn’t read the article yet. Maury. Right. Call Maury. Steve needed to know what he should be doing pronto, and Maury would have some ideas.

  Steve’s hand shook and his eye twitched unmercifully as he dialed. The last time he felt like this was when his college football coach caught him breaking curfew with a female the night before the Rose Bowl game.

  He heard the ring on the other end. “This is Maury Cohen. I’m either out of the office or on the phone. Please—”

  Steve hung up. He wanted to talk to a live person. Come on, face it, you want to talk to Paeton. As a matter of fact, he wanted to do a lot things with Paeton. Funny, he was more worried about her than himself. Why was that when he knew he was at the top of her shit list?

  He went to the small hotel refrigerator and took out some brie cheese. Okay, she could hang up on him. That would be easy. But could she slam the door in his face? Face-to-face, if he shot out a quick, sincere apology—wait a minute! What did he have to apologize for? He had no idea she had made an offer on the same house. Oh, hell, apologize, Steve. What do you care
? You can’t stand having her mad at you.

  He returned the cheese to the refrigerator. “Greta, I’m going out for a while. Call me on my cell if anything comes up.”

  “Okay, Steve.” Greta left the balcony and moved toward him, balancing Ryan on her hip. “But everything’s going to come up after that article. Be ready.”

  “No, I don’t mean that kind of anything. I mean anything good! Like, uh, Paeton calling me or anything.”

  Greta gave Steve a smile of confidence. “Don’t worry, Mr. Mom. We’ll get through this.”

  “Thanks, Greta. I know. I know. But right now I’m worried about paying for my new home. If old Ollie decides to dump me because of this bad publicity, I could never afford that place. That damn million dollars still hasn’t reached my account.”

  Greta nodded in understanding.

  “Well, I’m, uh, going out for some air. Take a drive maybe.” Steve started for the door.

  “You don’t have to drive to Paeton’s. An elevator will get you there.”

  He felt himself reddening. “How did you know?”

  Greta laughed quietly. “I know I recently came on the scene, but five minutes of watching you two today made it clear you’re not upset only about buying her house.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “We always want what we think we can’t have.”

  “What makes you think I want her? And what makes you think I can’t have her, if I did want her?”

  “I was there, remember?” And she laughed again, this time prompting a squeal of delight from Ryan.

  “Oh, right. Of course.”

  “Yeah. I’ve seen angry, and I’ve seen angry, but that was—whew!”

  “I know. I’m surprised the sidewalk didn’t burn up behind her. I didn’t know that was her house too! That son of a bitch Thryce! Why didn’t he say something? But there’s the fact that I love the crazy place too. I don’t want to give it up. There’s got to be something else on the market that Paeton could love. But she’s stubborn! She’s strong.” Steve conjured up an image of Paeton. “She’s gorgeous!”