by Babe Hayes
Her elevator did not come. She knew Steve was still blocking the doors because she did not hear them close. She felt his eyes bearing down on her, but he said nothing. She half wished he would come up behind her and take her in his arms. She quashed that self-destructive impulse.
Where is the damned elevator? A burning bored into her back from those demon eyes as she waited for what seemed an eternity. She shook her shoulders as if that would also shake off the demons.
But she knew the truth. She would have to do much more than shake her shoulders to dispel the force Steve Kaselman would always have on her soul.
#
Steve swung out through the doors of Fred’s building. Seeing Paeton in the elevator had left him sick to his stomach. First, he had made no progress breaking down Paeton’s determination to eliminate him from her life. Second, he was probably compounding her determination by moving into the Alice house tomorrow. What made him crazy was that he could do nothing more to prove his innocence to her until he got back from his three-day tour in Detroit covering the Tigers. Thank god Greta could handle the move with no trouble while he was out of town.
He slowed his gait, contemplating the situation. Yes, he knew what he must do. He would have plenty of free time after the Pirates gig to scope out his mission.
He stopped short, his heart picking up its pace in response to what lay ahead. He brooded grimly to himself as he started formulating a reckless, but totally necessary, plan. He knew, should the plan fail anywhere along the way, he would probably land in jail, lose his job, and worst of all, lose Paeton forever!
#
Steve was attempting to get comfortable in Ollie’s office. The sickness over Paeton had lingered the three days on the road, and now Ollie was adding to his nausea. He had called Steve in Detroit and made ominous insinuations, but he wouldn’t divulge specifics over the phone. Steve hated meetings like this. They reminded him of being called down to the principal’s office.
If the fiasco on the elevator with Paeton was any indication of how his life was playing out, Steve was certain more bad news was on the horizon.
Ollie finally entered his office. “Steve. Good morning. Good morning. Sorry to keep you waiting.” His sappy, pasted-on smile revealed he wasn’t sorry at all. He extended his hand for another phony, firm handshake.
“Hi, Ollie. How’s it going?” Steve hunkered back into his chair after standing to shake Ollie’s hand.
“Well, as far as you’re concerned, not good. I’m sure you’ve heard about what the SMACK people are doing.”
Steve knew something about this loony group from Paeton’s experience. But he wasn’t sure what it had to do with him. “Well, I guess, yes.”
“They are asking for a national boycott of ComfyDype sales. They are siding with Paeton McPhilomy in her cause against you.”
Steve jumped up. “What? I don’t know why Paeton is suing me in the first place. It’s all lies.” He started pacing around the room, going around behind Ollie’s chair.
Ollie swiveled in his seat, whipping his head around to maintain eye contact. “Lies or not, our sales are going down. You’ve got to make a public settlement of this situation. And quickly!”
“I’ve tried. She knows it’s lies. She won’t let me off the hook.”
“Steve, the point is, from a marketing perspective, we can’t continue our relationship with you under these circumstances. Every mom in the country, single or otherwise, is switching to TidyDipy diapers. Unless Paeton McPhilomy and SMACK forgive you or forget you, we will have to go into contract termination. You understand.”
“Yes, I understand. I guess I’m not fit to be the nation’s Mr. Mom, huh?”
“Yes, we may be looking for another one. Sorry, but business is business.”
Ollie didn’t get up, but Steve knew the meeting was over. “Yes, business is definitely business. Well, Ollie, see you around the diaper aisle—or not! No hard feelings. Honest.” Steve rose and departed without offering to shake hands, his mind already focused on his inevitable task. After all, what did he have to lose?
After Steve left Ollie’s office, he drifted down the street until he was across from the building where In Your Face had its offices. He knew exactly where the windows were from a visit soon after he and Paeton had made the filthy tabloid’s front page. He lingered a moment and stared at the set of windows on the twentieth floor. On the other side of those windows was a tape. A tape of the cell phone conversation he and Maury had right after the story broke about the scrambled babies. Only Steve hadn’t recorded the call—Steedly Black had!
Steve had to get his hands on that tape to prove to Paeton that he hadn’t betrayed her. That In Your Face had doctored the tape to make it look as if he had. But how could he ever get that tape? Steedly Black would never turn it over to him.
Now Paeton was suing him for millions. He knew she knew she could never win anything. There was no substantive basis for a lawsuit. She was only trying to hurt him. And he understood.
The sad truth was that he loved Paeton McPhilomy totally and completely. And he believed she felt the same way about him. He was the one who had been careless about letting his conversation with Maury be taped and thus shattering his relationship with her. He was the one who must make them whole again. The only way back into Paeton’s heart was for her to hear that tape.
He jammed his hands in his pockets and strode determinedly down the street. This was it. Tonight. Tonight, he would risk losing everything he had to win the only thing he wanted—the heart of Paeton McPhilomy!
#
Steve’s stunt on the elevator dogged Paeton all day and was still invading her thoughts late that night. She had tried hard, but could not shut him and those incredible eyes out of her mind. He was such a jerk. But such a beautiful jerk. The dangerous flame of desire that came in concert with her thoughts had not been extinguished. She even felt herself sweetly aching in forbidden places.
Now, when most people had long since finished a day’s work, Paeton hadn’t even begun. She used her mouse to paint the last five pages she had composed and hit the delete key. She was losing patience with herself. She wasn’t writing from scratch, for heaven’s sake. There was the book she had to use as her guide sitting right on the desk with her monitor. Once again, she saw that the book was four hundred pages; the movie could be only two hours.
She sighed heavily. She knew the writing wasn’t really the problem. Steve Kaselman was the problem.
She checked the clock. Did it really say two in the morning? She wasn’t writing; she wasn’t sleeping; she wasn’t eating. She was short with the children. She was on the verge of feeling sorry for herself when the realization surfaced that the only way Steve was going to go away was if she married someone else. Kaselman was always going to be around somewhere. But as long as she was a single mom, she was still available to him. In both their eyes.
“Ha!” Her laugh was harsh. Mocking. How ironic that the great romance writer was living herself right into a corner the way her heroines did. Her heroines always seemed to fall for the wrong man. Of course, in her stories they somehow found a way out and lived happily ever after.
Happily ever after! Right! She rose to get another cup of coffee. But Paeton was living in reality. She was the author of her own fate. There was no way she could write her way out of this “wrong man!”
She returned to her computer. She held the mug tightly with both hands, seeking the warmth of the fresh pour. But the heat was no comfort to her heart. It flinched at the words she had uttered to Steve in the elevator: “I am going to marry Fred.” She had spoken them hatefully to hurt Steve. But marrying Fred seemed like the only solution. She knew he would marry her in a New York second—or an L.A. second, as it were. He would be kind and considerate. Like Kevin. She and Fred would have a comfortable marriage. No dangerous demons. No orbiting around yet-uncharted planets. But marriage to Fred would be hard-core reality. Like her marriage to Kevin. Normal. Steady. Comfortable.
Predictable. She flinched again—boring!
Nevertheless, marriage to Fred would offer her the freedom to write again. To have a life with a pattern, a routine she could rely on.
Time. Time was all Paeton needed to leave behind all the feelings and hopes Steve Kaselman had brought her. They would both be better off getting older without each other. Because, although they unquestionably made beautiful music together, Steve would always be the jock, who, in the final chapter, would let her down and betray her every dream.
Paeton stared at her blank screen. Her book sat fat and unreachable on the desk. What time was it? She looked at the clock. She knew what time it was. It was time to make a normal life. Yes. After sunup, she would invite Fred to dinner. She would begin her campaign to marry him and put Steve far behind her. She was certain this was the answer.
She shivered. Strange, the room was far from cold.
#
“Fred, let’s have dinner tonight.”
Paeton was on the phone at Alejandro’s salon, waiting for Kiki to begin her haircut. She had decided that “new” would resolve her equivocation. She would be able to look in the mirror and see a “new Paeton”! Now when she looked in the mirror, she saw dark circles under her eyes—signs of stress in the “old Paeton.”
“Sounds great, Paeton. I have a meeting until eight. How about we meet at Chez d’Paris around then?” Fred answered enthusiastically.
Chez d’Paris! She felt instantly delicious and frightened. Was it wise to launch the new Paeton where the old one had been seduced into self-destruction? Fear reflected back from the mirror. “Chez d’Paris. Eight o’clock. Great! I can’t wait to see you. Bye, honey.” Paeton tried to sound bubbly as she hung up.
After spending two hours with Kiki getting her new ’do exactly right, she headed to Montalini’s boutique for a new wardrobe. Tonight the new Paeton would wow Fred.
Paeton, sporting her new look, breezed through the entrance into Montalini’s. Did she feel herself gaining momentum?
“Good afternoon, Ms. McPhilomy. We’re all ready for you,” chirped the owner, unable to restrain her enthusiasm for a lucrative client.
Christened with her new hairstyle, Paeton began adding new outfits to the new Paeton. Next she would be adding new shoes. Then new accessories. Then new nightwear. New nightwear?
And the really disturbing question: Would adding layer upon layer of newness to the outside be enough to muffle the relentless beating of the purple magic-marker heart residing inside?
#
“Paeton, you look marvelous,” glowed Fred, taking her hand and leading her to their table.
Paeton was still heady from the day’s whirl. She had spent far too much—three thousand dollars. But maybe this economic abandon would put new life into her writing too. After several promising starts, the two-hour script had still barely progressed past the credits!
“Thanks, Fred.” I did all this for you.” She twirled like a schoolgirl and suddenly felt foolish.
Fred’s eyes reflected approval. “I certainly am the luckiest guy. I have to say, Paeton, you’ve always looked gorgeous, but tonight—I guess spectacular is barely adequate.”
“You’re great, Fred.” Why did Paeton feel so awkward? Weren’t these the words she wanted to hear? She sat down as Fred pulled back the velvet-cushioned chair. “I’m starving.” She looked into Fred’s eyes. They were certainly beautiful eyes—a slate gray. She found she was studying them as she did a painting. They were aesthetically pleasing, yet they held no excitement. But Fred offered excitement in other ways. Before she could enumerate those ways, their server came to announce the meal Fred had pre-ordered.
First, they split a huge five-pound Maine lobster. Paeton knew Fred was privy to her favorite food. Next, Dom Perignon substituted for Bordeaux. Fred was going all-out.
Paeton sipped the champagne, the bubbles tickling her nostrils. “Oh, Fred, isn’t this wonderful? Here we are, the two of us, closed off from the outside, clawing world. I’m lousy at being a public figure.”
“I know that, Paeton. But this will all be over soon. The book boycott is gone. You’ll soon be National Single Mom of the Year. The public will forgive you. Kaselman will become a vague memory.”
His name stung her like a giant bee. She could feel her heart swell up, becoming too large for her chest. She choked on the champagne.
Fred came around to pat her on the back. “You okay?”
Paeton managed a forced laugh. “Thanks. Too many bubbles, I guess.”
Fred laughed too. “I know what you mean. This is powerful stuff.” He kept his hand on her back. He rubbed her back and moved his other hand up to her bare neck. “You know I’d do anything for you, Paeton. I’ve always dreamed of the two of us being together. I fell in love with you the minute I saw you.”
Paeton shifted uncomfortably. “That’s lovely, Fred.” She picked up her seafood cracker. Was it the Dom Perignon making her stomach queasy?
Fred slid his hand from her neck and returned to his place. He picked up his utensils too. “Oh, baby, is this some seafood? Five pounds of magnificent eating!”
Paeton smiled back as intimately as she could. “The best!” She grasped her champagne glass and raised it high. “To—” a purple heart flashed past that made her catch her breath. “To—us!”
Fred looked back, love in his eyes. “Yes. To us!”
The clinking of the champagne glasses accused— “Liar!”
#
Paeton couldn’t get comfortable in the Italian leather seats of Fred’s XJ6 Jaguar. She kept pushing the buttons on her seat.
Fred laughed as a man laughs when he has the woman he loves in the seat next to him. “What are you doing, darling? My passenger seat has never had such a workout.”
Paeton smiled blankly in response. “Oh, I don’t know. I can’t seem to find the right combination so I’m comfortable.”
“That’s odd. You’ve always been comfortable before.”
“I know. I guess things aren’t completely settled down yet.”
Fred leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “Well, we’ll take care of that soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh,” and he laughed knowingly. “You’ll see.”
Paeton still hadn’t found the right combination of seat adjustments by the time they arrived at her hotel. They stopped, and the valet opened the door for her.
“Good evening, Ms. McPhilomy.”
“Thank you.” Paeton got out and started walking toward the entrance.
Fred jumped out by himself. “Hey, wait for me.”
“Oh, Fred, are you coming?”
“Am I coming? Are you feeling well? I thought we could spend, you know, some time before I went home.”
She didn’t answer. They reached the lobby elevator. “Okay,” she said in a low voice.
The elevator door opened. They rode in silence to Paeton’s floor. Fred took Paeton’s hand as they ascended. He nuzzled her neck. She stood accepting his affection.
“I love you, Paeton.”
Bong. The elevator doors parted. They walked hand in hand down the hallway and stopped at her suite. Paeton looked into Fred’s gray eyes. He bent his head and kissed her on the mouth. They stopped in the hallway. He put his arms around her. She put her arms around him. When his lips parted and she felt his tongue, she dropped her hands and said quietly, “I just don’t feel right tonight, Fred. It’s been so fast.” She could feel the ache in her heart. What was she doing? But she decided this was what living a normal life was all about. Sometimes it didn’t feel right.
Fred pulled back. Paeton could tell he was confused and embarrassed. “It’s okay, honey.” He kissed her forehead. “I understand. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Fred. You’re such an angel.” She lifted her head and kissed his mouth gently. “You’re such a pal.”
“Pal. Right. Uh, good night, Paeton.” He turned away, stopped, then slowly turned completely around.
“I love you. Good night.”
Paeton stood there. She lifted one hand and waved weakly. She located her key and let herself into her suite. She would make it up to Fred tomorrow—wouldn’t she?
#
“Me too, Fred.” Tomorrow had come—and gone. So had another day. And another. And now it was Saturday, and she still hadn’t made it up to Fred. “Yes, see you tonight. I can’t wait either.” Paeton hung up. Fred was always telling her he loved her, but she could only respond “me too.” She had never told Fred she loved him. She wondered if he noticed.
It was almost eight-thirty. Paeton absentmindedly clicked on the morning news. She went to the front door of her suite and collected the newspaper.
She poured herself a cup of steaming coffee and sat down to read the paper.
Cough! Paeton choked on a swallow of her just-brewed beverage. Over the top of her newspaper she glimpsed Steve Kaselman on the morning TV news. The two-dimensional image did not diminish the hook his eyes still had for her.
“Early this morning, Steve ‘Mr. Mom’ Kaselman was caught in the office lobby of In Your Face publications. He was unarmed and very red-faced. When asked why he was breaking into those offices, he answered, ‘Three guesses!’”
Three guesses! Paeton felt at once guilty and touched. She had expected the lawsuit and her iciness in the elevator to make him furious, but she never dreamed he would go to such extremes to recover the incriminating tape. Damn him! Why was he always so wonderful and so infuriating at the same time?
Ring!
Paeton went hesitantly to the phone. “Hello?”
“Paeton McPhilomy? This is Steedly Black of In Your Face. Could you tell me why—?”
Paeton slammed down the phone.
A moment later, it rang again. She glared at it until her answering machine kicked in. “Ms. McPhilomy, this is Brian Evans from the Daily Herald, Atlanta, Georgia. Can you tell me if the break-in at the In Your Face offices by Mr. Mom, and his reason, ‘three guesses,’ have anything to do with you? My number is one, eight eight eight—” Paeton hit the machine’s stop button to deflect the assault.