Scrambled Babies

by Babe Hayes

  She let her eyes meet his. Always a dangerous decision! Paeton wanted yet dreaded this conversation. They had to get past her intense negative feelings associated with jocks if their relationship was to move to a new and better place. Apparently, that’s what Paeton wanted, or she wouldn’t be eyeing the sumptuous treats in front of her—including Steve Kaselman!

  Now the time had come, and she didn’t know how to respond. She felt as if she were floating in a boundless ocean where the surface promised pleasure, but the deep posed devastation.

  She heard Steve laugh playfully again. “Hey! Paeton McPhilomy! You didn’t hear a word I said, did you? Is this what it’s like being with an author? You’re always wandering around in some other exciting space and time while the rest of us are harnessed to the boring here and now?”

  Paeton laughed too, a little embarrassed. “Hey, yourself. I’m sorry. Yes, I guess that’s true. There’s always some story rattling around in my brain. And sometimes it takes over the real situation.”

  “Well, what were you writing a second ago?”

  She blushed. “Well, if you have to know, I was thinking about you.”

  “Oh, I’m in one of your stories?”

  “How can you not be with all the commotion you’ve caused in my life lately?” she countered, arching one eyebrow.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute. I thought we’ve been through that. I mean, I still haven’t convinced you that I don’t give every strange woman who bumps into me the look I gave you?”

  “Well,” and Paeton was coy, “I guess I’m convinced.”

  “Besides, the truth is I didn’t give you a look. We responded to each other’s look. Paeton,” he reached across the blanket and gently took her hand, “what I’m trying to say here is that I think we have something special, and we need to get past this I’m-a-no-good-jock thing so we can move on to just us.”

  His hand felt so perfect, as if her hand was made for his. Paeton was feeling safer and safer with Steve. “I think we’re making progress.”

  Steve’s light sigh suggested he was relieved. “I certainly hope so. I’m tired of taking the rap for the jerk-jocks you must have been involved with. You know I hated breaking that date. You know it was business. Come on now, I want the truth about all these jocks who have made you so skittish that you won’t trust me. The truth! All of it, Paeton McPhilomy!”

  “Well, there’s not much to tell.” She stared up into a velvet-white magnolia blossom that was lulling them in its rich perfume. Then she brought her face to his. “No, that’s not the truth. There were two—and they were all of it! The first was my high school sweetheart, Tommy Hodges. He was the school jock: varsity football, track, basketball. From sophomore year on. Became captain of all three in senior year. Tall, dark, and gorgeous. And he had a gentle side. At least I thought he did. We started going steady as sophomores. And by senior year, we thought we had true love, the way most high school kids do. We were going to go off to college, write steamy letters, see each other holidays, and in the end, get married. We put off sex and put off sex and put off sex until we finally couldn’t anymore. Even the few times we did, we were careful.

  “At least we thought we were until I was a month late for my period. I was scared to death. This happened to other people, not me. And I kept praying it was a freaky irregularity, so I didn’t tell him. Then when I was two months late, I told him I was sure I was pregnant. He ran like a scared rabbit. Or more like a scared tight end. He ran and ran and ran, and I couldn’t get him even to talk to me after that.”

  “The wimp son of a bitch!”

  “It was a horrible, lonely time. I never told anybody I was late. My parents expected so much of me. I just couldn’t tell them. I kept hoping—” Paeton inhaled deeply. “Well, the good news was I was only late. I was very athletic, and my intense physical activity had affected my period. I was late many times after that until I stopped being such a jock. When Tommy found out I wasn’t pregnant, he wanted to come back. But you can guess the answer to that one.”

  “I think I have a pretty good idea.” Steve’s voice was tender. “And the other truth? One high school punk doesn’t an entire world of jerk-jocks make.”

  Paeton let her heart drift back to college days. “True. That’s what I figured too.” A melancholy smile spread over her face. “So enter Mr. Woodson Van Slyck. Heartbreaker extraordinaire.”

  “Woodson? What kind of a name is Woodson?”

  Paeton laughed. “Well, it’s southern—Atlanta, Georgia.” And Paeton gave her version of a southern accent. “Everybody called him Woody. For a while I called him mine. I met him at a college swim conference. I never saw anyone so beautiful off the board. He seemed to stay up in the air forever, spinning, twisting, jack-knifing and then entering the water in a quiet slide.” She stopped, reluctant to revisit that painful past, but Steve was prompting her.

  “And?”

  Paeton winced. She could still feel the hurt after all these years. “And a month before our wedding, I found out he was entering more than the water with that quiet slide. I thought my father was going to hunt him down and kill him.”

  “I’d feel the same way if you were my daughter.” He looked at her affectionately. “Thank god you’re not!”

  Paeton laughed. “So you can see why I waited to marry until I was twenty-eight, and that when I did, I married Kevin Smith, faithful, steady, wouldn’t-know-a-bunt-from-a-half-gainer, certified public accountant “ordinaire.”

  Steve smiled warmly. “Boy, you weren’t taking any chances that time! Would it be fair to say he was a world-class un-jock? And Smith? Where did McPhilomy come from?”

  “Right. McPhilomy. My mother’s maiden name. She died right before I started writing novels. I decided in her honor to take McPhilomy as my pen name.”

  Steve got up, walked around the blanket, and sat down next to her quietly. His hand enfolded hers. He unwrapped her fingers and doodled with his fingers in her palm. “So one steady accountant beats two unreliable jocks, huh?”

  “Yes, I guess that was it.”

  “How about if I said I can make up for two bad jocks?” He put her hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Paeton. I hope you finally believe me that what happened at the airport was unique for me.” He held her chin, tilted her head up, and gazed into her eyes. “Like right now. You send me into outer space. No woman has ever done that.”

  Paeton kept her eyes in his, but she broke the spell with a pointed question. “Oh, really? Not even the woman you were about to marry? Not even Crystal Youngblood?”

  “No, not even Crystal Youngblood.”

  Paeton was confused. “But you were going to marry her. Why would you marry someone who didn’t take you into outer space?”

  Steve’s smile was peculiar. “Well, there’s a story there. Have you got time for a story?”

  “Sure, you listened to mine. I’ll listen to yours.”

  Steve studied the remains of the catered lunch before meeting Paeton’s eyes. He knew telling one woman about another woman was trickier than heart surgery. His hope was that he could keep his story about Crystal at least that clinical.

  “Crystal didn’t want to get married. But she wanted a baby. That was exactly what I wanted—a baby, no marriage.”

  Steve saw a flicker of change behind Paeton’s eyes. Her mouth lost its looseness. Steve waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he continued, feeling somewhat tentative about his next words. “You see, the few women I was serious about never wanted a child. At least for some time. They had careers. Either in sports or broadcasting.”

  “Why didn’t Crystal want to get married?”

  “Probably for the same reasons I didn’t—too risky. Marriage is usually a path to divorce.”

  Paeton didn’t respond. Steve almost shivered, such cold emanated from her eyes.

  “People can live happily together without having to get married, you know.”

 
“Uh-huh.”

  He bent forward and tried to kiss her. She pulled courteously away.

  Steve was confused, but saw no other path than the one he had chosen. “Okay, so Crystal hounded me to move in together. She kept talking baby. I removed the safety net, and she got pregnant. And we were parents of a beautiful baby boy.”

  Paeton sat motionless and cold. Then Steve thought he understood the cause for her icy mood. She was jealous. He forged ahead, somewhat relieved. “Want to hear the ending?” He went for the broad grin as if nothing was wrong.

  “Oh, yes. We have to hear the ending.” Her voice exuded contempt.

  Steve managed to swallow, although his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Well, I thought she really loved me. I thought I really loved her. And then she won the Miss Pride America pageant. Next thing I knew she got a movie offer to play a lead opposite Riccio, the Italian heartthrob to the world. Result? Steve was dogmeat. Not only was I heartbroken because I wasn’t used to being jilted, but I thought I would lose my new son to this Italian jerk.”

  Paeton’s posture was ominous. “So?”

  Steve was now in a state of panic. She didn’t seem jealous at all. What had he said to cause her to react so violently? Maybe he never should have started the story in the first place. He decided to come to a quick ending.

  “Well, Riccio wasn’t in a family mode. Especially if that meant taking on a kid fathered by another guy. So I asked for custody, and she didn’t dispute it. I guess her great desire for a baby was displaced by her desire to become a big movie star. She went off into the land of stardom with her Italian movie-star lover. Ryan and I don’t hear much from her.”

  Paeton remained silent. If looks could kill, I would be dead, he thought. What have I done? “So I got my son. I’m not married. I’m set exactly the way I wanted to be. Sometimes life works.”

  “You got exactly what you wanted—a baby, no marriage.” Paeton’s tone held obvious disapproval.

  Oh, oh! The blitz is on! “Right. It’s the twenty-first century, Paeton. People in love don’t have to get married.” Steve wanted to try to kiss her again, but decided against it. He bit the inside of his cheek instead.

  “I see. So if I get the picture, you were in love, wanted a family, but escaped the hard part—marriage.”

  Oh, god! I’m going to get sacked. “Right. Uh, well, I mean, no, we never intended to get married. Yes, I guess at the time I thought I was in love with her. And I really wanted a child. But I don’t think I could ever work up the courage to marry anybody.”

  Paeton riveted her eyes to his and spat out, “So, assuming we have a relationship, which I’m not certain of yet, your idea of the most serious relationship we can have is to shack up?”

  That’s it! I’m flat on my back! Steve threw out his hands, pleading with her. “Well, ‘shack up’ is hardly the phrase I would use.”

  “But it’s the one that fits.” Paeton’s lips were so tightly drawn, Steve wondered how she got her words out. “For your information, Kaselman, I don’t shack up with anybody!” And she snarled “shack up” as if it were an obscenity.

  “Paeton, I think we do have relationship. I think we can be great together. I may ask you to have us live together. People live together for years without being married. Look at—I forget their names—those movie stars. They’ve been living as a family for years, and they aren’t married. Most of the time marriage screws up a good relationship. You’re a professional with a career. So am I. We continue being who we are, but live like a family.”

  “Like a family is a long way from being a family.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t think there is a ‘but’ we can talk about. I was right. You’re just another self-centered, arrogant, egotistical jock!”

  She rose and glared down at him. When he started to stand, she stabbed her finger sharply into his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Don’t bother to get up. I can find my way home, thank you. A home is what I want. A shack is not! Good-bye—Kaselman!” She whirled and hurried away down the path.

  Steve sat there stunned. He had not anticipated such a radical reaction to his need to avoid marriage. He called after her. “Paeton. I hate it when you call me that. Don’t go! I still want to talk about the Alice house.” She continued to march unhesitatingly away. “Hey, and the TV show. What do I do? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Do I have to be there?”

  Paeton displayed no signs of slowing down.

  Steve called out again. He had risen to his knees. “Paeton! Wait, please. I hate it when you call me Kaselman. What happened to Steve?”

  Paeton stopped short, turned in a belligerent stance, and shot back, “I don’t know. What did happen to Steve?” Then she gave him her back and stomped off.

  Steve jumped to his feet and started to run after her. “Paeton, don’t do this!” She must have heard him because she started running too. “Paeton! Please! We can work—” But he knew he couldn’t talk to her now. She demanded marriage. Otherwise—?

  Oh, Paeton McPhilomy! Why are you making my life so impossible?

  #

  A week after the lake incident, Paeton sat next to Fred in Studio B at the Media Building in L.A. The show would start in twenty minutes. People were scurrying everywhere. Those who would appear on camera were being fussed over by those who wouldn’t. The on-camera people were bright waxed apples; those fussing over them, dull dumpy potatoes.

  This experience wasn’t new to Paeton. Her whirlwind tour to publicize her book had taken her to many TV studios. But this time things were different. She was on trial, so to speak. The national audience would become her judge and jury. She wasn’t sure she liked that. But Fred had said this was the only way.

  Fred had laid careful groundwork: The “courtroom” would be Liesl Stoddard’s weekly TV show, “World of the Stars.” Liesl would explain that three times during the regular show, two videos of the identical children would be run on split screen. The tots would be placed in the now-famous Zoo Kingdom travelseats and blankets. They would also be in the original sleepers. Each infant would be prompted by an identical toy hanging overhead. The video would run for fifteen seconds. Then the audience would call in and answer two questions: First, which baby was which, and second, should Paeton withdraw from the National Single Mom of the Year competition? At the end of the show, Liesl would announce the results of the voting.

  “How are you doing, sweetheart?” Fred’s voice was in her ear. “The show’s about to hit the airwaves.” He turned to watch the monitor in the waiting room.

  Paeton looked at Fred. He appeared to be enjoying the situation. Or at least not under any kind of stress. She wished she could say the same for herself. Besides shouldering the shame of the scrambled-babies exposure, now she was suffering the pain of Steve Kaselman’s aversion to marriage; of her childish exit from their supposedly lovely, getting-to-know-you lunch; and of Steve’s not having called her for a week.

  She had been totally unprepared for Steve’s dread of—or was it scorn for?—the institution of marriage. That’s why she had bolted like that. She felt stupid afterward. She was supposed to be an adult. Adults talked things out rationally.

  But there was nothing vaguely rational about her relationship with Steve Kaselman. She had hoped for a phone call of apology. Then she just hoped for a phone call. Seven days and none yet. And Fred wanted to know how she was doing!

  Her visions of life with any man had always meant marriage. Until a week ago, marriage and Steve had been like a tall, magnificent mountain rising out of morning mist. Although Kevin’s death was a shock, her brief grieving provided sad evidence that their marriage had died some time before. He was a good, kind, hard-working, and faithful husband. He had always been good to Madison. But sometimes their marriage seemed like one portrayed in a third-grade storybook. Or as if they unwittingly were the cast of the Leave It to Beaver show. Paeton had to concede that the only romantic excitement in her life was what sprang to life w
ithin the pages of her love stories. There she played out all the fantasies so alien to her existence.

  On August fourth all that changed! Romantic fantasies beyond her wildest imagination became possibilities in the real world. And Steve was gentle. Steve was intelligent. Steve was fun. And Steve was a confirmed bachelor! Except for that, Steve was turning out to be everything she had ever wanted in a man.

  So, angry as she was, her thoughts still centered on him. For example, right now she found herself wishing he were sitting next to her. And this made her furious! She felt herself grinding her teeth. Her brain stood fast against her need for any man! But her heart gave in to the desire for Steve Kaselman.

  “Fine, fine. I’m okay, Fred.” The show, the show. She had to pay attention. This could make or break her career. And his.

  This was true. Steve had as much riding on this show as she did. But true to jock behavior, he had disappeared when things promised to turn ugly. As a result, Paeton was left to work out all details for the show with Greta because “Steve is so tightly scheduled.”

  I’ll tightly schedule him, she thought. And never even to call? I’d like to wring his neck!

  Of course, there was the undeniable circumstance of Paeton running from him like a schoolgirl on the playground. She didn’t deserve a phone call. Paeton should be the one to call and apologize. But as yet, she hadn’t found the courage. Besides, she had no idea where he was, and voice mail was out of the question.

  “We’re live in five, Mr. Hollister, Ms. McPhilomy,” broke into the waiting room over the intercom.

  Paeton’s heart picked up speed. So far no queasiness. Was she sorry she had let herself in for this? What if the nation voted for her to pull out? Should she? Would she? Liesl had said that only three percent of the listening audience voted anyway. What was three percent of ten percent of—oh, the hell with it. She wasn’t pulling out no matter how they voted.

  Fred said the important aspect of the show was to demonstrate that no one could conclusively discern which baby was which. Then Paeton could use the voters’ confusion over the babies’ gender to stay in the competition regardless of the vote.