Scrambled Babies

by Babe Hayes

  Paeton rose too. Together they moved to the door. She took both his hands, not daring to seek his eyes. “It was a wonderful kiss. I admit. You are not sweet. But I can’t deal with us right now, if there is an us.” She tightened her grip on his hands. “Okay?”

  She felt him respond in kind. “Okay.” He made no move to kiss her again, even though she knew they were both thinking about it. Instead, he turned the doorknob. “Good night, Paeton.”

  “Good night—Steve.”

  He laughed appreciatively. “Hey, great, I’m not Kaselman anymore.” He strode briskly down the hallway.

  No, now you are Steve! But should you still be Kaselman?

  Chapter 10

  Fred was deeply concerned. Paeton recognized the signs. When something really serious was on his mind, he kept running his hand through what was left of his hair. He had done it ten times since they started talking. They were sitting in her hotel suite the morning after the “Steve first kiss.”

  “Paeton, this is exactly what I was afraid would happen if the public got wind of your mix-up at the airport. The In Your Face article was bad enough. Now we have the ‘This Could Hurt’ show with that ridiculous Esther what’s-her-name asking you to withdraw from the competition.”

  “I’m not doing it!” Paeton interrupted. “That would make me look as if I admit to her nonsensical claim.”

  “I know, I know. But the makers of TidyDipy will be knocking at our door soon. Now I hear from your publisher that SMACK is trying to set up a national boycott against your books.”

  “Who?”

  “SMACK. Single Moms Against Cruelty to Kids. Some national group that goes around making sure kids are loved or something—especially by single moms. They feel your failure to recognize Kelsey gives single mothers a bad name.”

  Paeton couldn’t control her anger any longer. She jumped up. “Fred, what is this? The public really won’t believe the babies’ faces were covered? They really want to believe we don’t know our own kids? I’d like to see anyone besides us who can tell the difference between our children!” She planted her hands on her hips. “What are you smiling at? It’s not funny! I’d gladly give up my Sky Streaks royalties to anyone who could get it right one hundred percent of the time.”

  Fred got up stroking his chin. “No, it’s okay. I’m not laughing at you. I believe you. I know you know your own kids. But because these little guys look so identical, the media aren’t believing you. And you’re right—they don't want to believe you! We can't sit down with the entire United States and reason with them! The public and the media are out for blood! The whole tribe lives off the latest scandal. They don’t want the truth. But they do love games. So let’s give them what they want.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What if they did get to choose which baby is which? The public will go nuts for it. It’ll top American Idol, for god’s sake! The whole country can text in who they think which baby is which. If we can show the public that they can't distinguish between the infants either, maybe we can get you both off the hook. The fact will become no one can tell these kids apart—not even their parents!”

  “I don’t know, Fred. This sounds crazy! We could end up in worse trouble.”

  “I don’t think so. I think the world will love the courage of you two putting yourselves on the hotseat on national TV.”

  Paeton stepped back incredulously. “You think someone would sponsor it?”

  “Are you kidding? This will be the hottest thing since the final episode of ‘The Sopranos.’ I’ll get right on it.”

  “Should we call Ste—uh, Kaselman?”

  “Of course, he’ll have to be in on it. Can you call him? I’ve got a million things to do today.”

  Paeton gave Fred a sisterly kiss. “Fred. You’re the greatest. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m sorry I got us into this crazy mess.”

  “Paeton.” He took her by the arms again, only this time more gently. His eyes were earnest. “You know how I feel about you. I’d do anything for you.” He was unable to conceal a sigh, turned away, and was all business again. “Look, call Kaselman and tell him what we’re doing. Make sure he goes along with it.”

  Paeton didn’t need a lot of encouragement to call Kaselman, that is, Steve. Actually, she’d been looking for an excuse all day. Ever since he kissed her last night. She wondered if anything positive could come out of all this insanity. This giddy feeling that permeated her every move and thought. Was it only Steve? Or was it all the strange excitement and anxiety brought on by the situation?

  She followed Fred to the door. “Okay, I’ll get right on it.”

  “I’ll call you as things progress. I’m excited! I think this may be the answer to our troubles. The public needs to know how easily this whole mix-up could have happened.”

  “Bye, Fred.” Paeton bestowed another friendly peck. “I wish us luck.”

  As soon as Fred was out the door, Paeton was on the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, this is Paeton McPhilomy. May I speak to Steve, please?”

  “Oh, Ms. McPhilomy. This is Greta. We haven’t met, but I’m Ryan’s nanny, the person who was holding Ryan that day by the pool.”

  “Oh.” The memory of losing the Alice house resurfaced. But Steve’s kiss seemed to have salved the memory and put it further in the past. “Yes, of course. Steve has mentioned you, Greta. But please, call me Paeton.”

  “Thank you, Paeton. Steve has mentioned you too. Anyway, he’s not here. He had to go to the ComfyDype offices. There seem to be rumblings that they may renege on the endorsement deal.”

  “Oh, no! And some group is trying to set up a boycott against my books. How is everything going so wrong? Well, anyway, I really need to talk to him. My agent has an idea that may put the lid on this whole nonsense and save us both from losing our careers.”

  “Why don’t you page him? I’m sure he’ll call you as soon as possible.”

  “Okay, thanks. Nice to talk to you, Greta.”

  Paeton paged Steve immediately. She felt a mischievous prickle because she pictured the part of his body that would be host to the vibration of his pager.

  #

  Steve surveyed the boardroom of ComfyDype. Even with Maury sitting next to him, it was intimidating. A ceiling reaching two stories with gold crown molding along its perimeter. Rich mahogany furniture waiting to indulge executives. Gold-framed portraits of former CEOs and founders lining the walls, scowling down on them with folded arms. He could see his face reflected on the table. The whole room reeked of money. Who would have imagined that so much money could be made peddling diapers?

  He took a sip of coffee from a mug shaped like a ComfyDype ready to encase a tiny bottom. He and Maury were waiting for the big boys. He felt he couldn’t breathe. Probably shouldn’t have worn his vest. It was too tight. He was trying to get back to his playing weight, but it wasn’t working. He hated getting old.

  Paeton had mentioned his vest being too tight. He hoped she didn’t mind that he couldn’t get back to the old weight. Ah, Paeton, Paeton! How could one kiss penetrate right to the core of his being? Where did this bewitching woman come from?

  “Steve? You with us?” Maury spoke softly in his ear. Steve chortled inwardly as he nodded “yes.” Maury always knew when Steve was tuned out. When Steve called to inform Maury of Ollie’s request for a meeting, Maury offered to fly in to attend. Steve was no good alone in this kind of meeting. The only business Steve flew well solo was broadcasting. So Maury made the scene to cover his back—of course, there were a few bucks in it for him too. Even so, Steve was grateful.

  The huge, solid wood door swung open, and Ollie and some other suit glided in. Steve and Maury rose to greet them.

  Ollie spoke. “Steve, Maury, this is Warren Costell, our CEO.”

  The four men shared greetings, shook hands, and sat down. Maury showed no emotion. Steve admired how Maury played business-meeting the same way he played
poker—never blinking. That was one of the reasons Steve had hired him to be his agent.

  This time Olivier St. Marquette gave the floor to Warren. “Gentlemen, we have been doing some thinking about your contract. Maybe we were a little hasty in making our offer. You are aware that the sky is falling on you. And that same sky is now about to fall on ComfyDype if we choose Steve to endorse our product.”

  Silence. Steve was waiting for Maury to say something. But he sat there, quiet and patient.

  The silence persisted a minute or so. Warren finally gave in. “To show you it’s not only us, we hear that TidyDipy diaper company, our biggest competitor and sponsor of the National Single Mom of the Year competition, will be asking Paeton McPhilomy, your partner in crime, so to speak, to withdraw from their pageant.”

  Steve felt a vibration against his upper thigh as his pager went off. Steve hated it when he was paged and couldn’t immediately respond. He was dying to see who had called. He hoped it was Paeton. They hadn’t spoken since he kissed her last night. And what a kiss! Impossible as it seemed, he had underestimated the impact of kissing that mouth! The mouth was incredible enough, but with Paeton behind it, he was bewitched beyond his wildest fantasies.

  Warren continued. “The point, gentlemen, is we have decided to cancel the filming of the TV commercial. We are willing to buy out Mr. Kaselman’s contract for five hundred thousand dollars. We’re sorry things didn’t work out for us to do business together.”

  Warren laid down the pen he had been holding during his speech and sat back, waiting for a response.

  Steve shot a glance at Maury. Costell’s offer hung ominously over the sleek table like an ominous storm cell. No one spoke. Steve fidgeted in his seat. He knew he should let Maury answer. At least two minutes elapsed.

  Finally, Maury casually lowered his Mont Blanc to the table. “I can’t believe you’re serious, Warren. You want my client, the nation’s Mr. Mom, to accept five hundred thou to buy out a five-million-dollar contract?”

  No one responded. Maury waited another minute before he spoke again. Steve tried to control the twitch in his eye. “I know we can’t force you to do the commercial. I understand that. But a contract is a contract. My client is ready, willing, and able to perform the tasks outlined in our contract. Your lack of action does not affect him. This is a two-year deal. Why don’t you wait until this all blows over? And you know it will. There’ll be a juicy split between two movie stars coming up soon, and they will divert the headlines away from this silliness. Then you can do your commercial with Steve.”

  Warren took a sip from his ComfyDype mug. “But we need somebody now. We thought that was his child crying on world television. We had no idea the baby wasn’t his. We don’t want a Mr. Mom who doesn’t know his own kid.” He paused to allow his point to penetrate. “Seven hundred fifty thousand.”

  Maury fixed his steady gaze on the two executives. He waited a long time again. “We’re not giving up a five-million-dollar contract, gentlemen. And by the way, that million dollars that was supposed to be in Mr. Kaselman’s bank account at least a week ago is still not there. I do hope Steve finds it there soon. Very soon. You certainly don’t want to breach your contract within the first month of signing. A court would not be sympathetic. Trust me on this!” Maury rose confidently. “Come on, Steve. It’ll blow over, people. Steve is still the best Mr. Mom in the country.”

  Steve stood up with Maury. He’d love to have the five mil, but he needed that one mil right now! He had no way to pay for the Alice house otherwise. And he did love the Alice house. Or rabbit house, as Maddy called it. The notion struck him how much warmer that house would be with Maddy and Paeton and Kelsey in it. Then he caught himself. What am I thinking about? I haven’t even had a date with her yet. One kiss? The incredible pain of the split with Crystal swept past. He wasn’t ready for another blow like that.

  Then he remembered his pager. He fished it from his pocket. Paeton! He thought those vibrations from the pager were somewhat special. Was he falling for this woman? Or was it only the screwy circumstances arising from the scrambled babies that were propelling their relationship? It was too soon to tell. The first thing he had to do was call Paeton, then head down the coast to do a game in San Diego.

  Maury and Steve reached the street. “Thanks, Maury. You think we’ll be all right?”

  “Yes, I think so. I don’t know how hard they play. I suppose the lawyers could argue there’s some kind of fraud element here. You know, something like Mr. Mom passing off someone else’s kid as his. But we’ll have to wait. Listen, I have to get back to New York. Call me if that mil doesn’t show by tomorrow night.”

  They shook hands. “Right. I’ll call as soon as it hits. Safe flight.”

  Steve went around the corner to call Paeton on his cell phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Paeton? Steve.”

  “Steve! Hi. They’re boycotting my books.”

  “Wow! I’m sorry. Well, they’re trying to take away my five million.”

  “I heard. It looks as if we need to support each other. Speaking of support, Fred has an idea to staunch this bloodbath.”

  “Great. What is it?”

  “We’re going to video Kelsey and Ryan, find a sponsor, and have viewers text the gender the way—”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Paeton laughed. “Never mind. I’ll give you the whole scoop on Saturday. I know you’re too busy, so have Greta call Fred’s office. Megan is coordinating the whole thing.”

  Steve had never heard a sound as wonderful as Paeton’s laugh. “Okay. I trust you and Fred. I’ll tell Greta about it. See you Saturday. Eight o’clock, sharp.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Steve moaned to himself. He was ready for more than dinner!

  #

  It was Friday night when Steve got the brainstorm. He was sitting in his hotel room in San Diego. He had finished broadcasting the Padres–Red Sox game. Pedro Romero of the Padres was a longtime good friend of his. They had been roommates at UCLA and played football together. Pedro had taken the less damaging career route of baseball over football. If Steve could pull this off, he could save his contract with ComfyDype. But the plan had one major snag—he would have to cancel his dinner date with Paeton!

  Steve shuddered at the thought of calling Paeton and telling her. But time was against him. He had to act now. The mil still had not shown up. Every day that went by brought him closer to disaster with the diaper company and to losing his Alice house.

  As the plan gelled in his mind, he kept thinking of Paeton’s response. Maybe she’ll understand. We can go out Sunday night and—! He knew he was kidding himself. He was certain he was following a pattern laid out by however many jocks had preceded him. He was being self-centered. He was letting her down! He was being a jock! But he had no other choice. He had to execute his plan, then somehow make it up to her.

  Steve dialed a number. “Pedro Romero’s room, please. Thank you. Pedro? Steve Kaselman. Listen, can I buy you dinner tomorrow night—” and Steve choked, “yeah, Saturday night after the game? Great! By the way, I hear Gilliam’s got a wicked change-up now. Watch for it. Okay. See you tomorrow night.”

  Steve guiltily replaced the phone. He was finally getting his contract under control at the expense of feeling like a jock-heel! What had Paeton said when they first spoke? Arrogant, egotistical, something, something jock. And now he was cancelling their first date! To be with a baseball player! He was doomed! But that’s the way things had to be.

  He eyed the phone uneasily. It seemed to be taunting him. “Go ahead and call her. I dare you! Jock!”

  #

  Paeton picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  She knew someone was on the other end, but no one responded.

  “Hello?”

  “Paeton? Hi.”

  “Steve?” She immediately felt goose bumps all over. She was still basking in their first kiss. Why was he being so hesitant?<
br />
  “Uh, yeah, it’s me. Uh, Paeton, I hate to do this, but the sports business, you know how unpredictable it is and—”

  Her heart fell. She knew. “You’re canceling our first date!”

  “How did you know?”

  She felt a protective shield go up around her feelings. What else did she expect? He was a jock just like all the other jocks. “Well, good, because I have to work all weekend on that TV show Fred is cooking up anyway.”

  “Good, good. The ComfyDype boys are trying to dump me, and I have to scurry to keep it from happening. I have to take a player to dinner on Saturday. But maybe Sunday we can—”

  A terrible chill came over her. She rubbed her arms. “I guess you didn’t hear me. I said I’m busy all weekend.”

  “Paeton, please don’t do this. You know how much I wanted to take you out.”

  “No, that’s okay. Dinner is probably dumb for us to do anyway. What do we have to talk about? Fred and Megan have the whole thing under control. We have nothing to do but watch.”

  “Paeton, don’t talk like that. I want—wait a minute. A second ago you said you had to work all weekend.”

  Paeton pressed her free hand to her tightening chest. She was fighting back tears. She had to get off. “Oh, there’s someone at the door. I’ll call you later. Bye.”

  Paeton quickly slammed down the phone, the room blurry in front of her. Let down again! Let down as always! Paeton, when will you ever learn!

  #

  It was happening in every baseball park in the country. The broadcast from Cleveland was typical.

  “It’s a beautiful day here in Cleveland, sports fans. This is Rod Kerring, and we’re ready for the first pitch of the game as Sandoval steps into the batter’s box. Pierce gets the sign and delivers. Strike on the outside corner. Wait a minute. What’s that on Sandoval’s cap right under the Nike logo? Check it with the glasses, Hal. It’s a what? A patch shaped like a diaper? Specifically, shaped like the ComfyDype logo? Wow! Folks, I’ve been broadcasting these Indians games for eight years, and I never thought I’d live to see the day when a strapping baseball player would wear a diaper-shaped patch on his cap. Just another minute here. Pierce has one on his—my goodness, baseball fans, every member of both teams has a ComfyDype patch on his cap. It’s baseball history, fans. They’re all in ComfyDypes! We’ll let you know why it seems to be ComfyDype day for the players as soon as we can figure it out. By the way, the count is three and two. Still nobody out.”