Mommy Tracked (23 page)

Chloe glanced at her watch. She was already running late, but she couldn’t bring William upstairs while he was in the middle of a fit—and why had he been crying so much lately? she wondered with a twinge of anxiety. William had never been colicky before, but now he seemed to be fussing most of the time he was awake. She looked down at him, undecided whether she should pick him up and cuddle him or just wheel him around outside until he fell asleep, when thankfully—amazingly—he blinked, yawned, and then his eyelids snapped shut, so that his feathery eyelashes spread against the soft pillows of his cheeks. It always amazed her that he could do that, just fall asleep in mid-scream, as though an off switch had been pressed.

Thank you for that small miracle
, Chloe thought.
Maybe I’ll make it through this interview after all.

The living room in Fiona Watson’s suite had a stunning view of Palm Beach’s white beaches and the blue-gray ocean beyond. It was exactly the sort of place Chloe would have imagined a movie star of Fiona’s stature would stay. The furnishings were tastefully expensive—a low cream sofa, two pale-blue wing chairs monogrammed with white Bs, a carved armoire, a sleek mahogany desk—and the living area alone was bigger than the entire first floor of Chloe’s town house. Clearly, Fiona needed the space; the room was full of people, including two personal assistants buzzing around importantly, a stylist who had brought a selection of gowns for the actress’s appearance that night at a charity ball at Donald Trump’s Mar-A-Lago, and a hairdresser, a manicurist, and a cosmetician, who were chatting among themselves while they waited for their turn with Fiona. Just after Chloe arrived, a young woman with a caramel-colored tan also came in, shepherding Fiona Watson’s two young sons, who looked as though they’d just come inside after having a swim, considering their damp hair and Hawaiian patterned trunks.

Chloe sat in the chair one of the assistants had pointed her to, parking William’s stroller next to her. William was, thankfully, still asleep.

The assistant—who introduced herself as Nanette—was a tall, pretty girl with a shock of short pale-blonde hair. She looked at the stroller doubtfully.

“She’s not going to like that,” Nanette said.

Chloe didn’t have to ask who She was.

“Right—sorry. I didn’t have a choice.” Chloe smiled apologetically. “My sitter fell through. I hope Miss Watson likes children.”

Nanette looked horrified. “You’re not going to bring it into the interview with you, are you?”

“It?” Chloe asked, confused.

“The baby.”

“Oh…my son? Well, um, yes. I can’t leave him alone,” Chloe said.

But Nanette was vigorously shaking her head from side to side before Chloe had even finished speaking. “Absolutely not. It’s out of the question. She doesn’t like having babies around her.”

“But she has two little boys,” Chloe pointed out.

“Chloe Truman? She’s ready to see you,” a second assistant—this one an impossibly good-looking young man with a square jaw and heavily highlighted hair—said importantly, as he swept into the room.

“Thank God you’re here. You have to help me get rid of this baby,” Nanette hissed nervously at the second assistant.

Chloe stared at her and took a step closer to William. She didn’t know what this woman meant by “get rid of,” but she wasn’t taking any chances.

“I don’t think—” Chloe began to say, but Nanette wasn’t listening to her.

“Baby? What baby?” the second assistant asked.

“She brought a
baby
with her!” Nanette said, nodding in Chloe’s direction.

“Well, she certainly can’t bring it in there,” said Assistant Number Two, looking scandalized. “Get Katie to watch it.”

Again with the it
, Chloe thought, her irritation and frustration mounting.

“His name is William,” Chloe began.

“Katie,” Nanette called out. The nanny had been trying to talk the two little boys into sitting still long enough for her to towel-dry their damp hair. The larger of the two boys—he looked to be about six—kept hitting the nanny’s hand away, while the younger one, around four, was poking her in the bottom with the plastic shovel from a pail set.

“Quincy, stop it. Satchel, please sit still. You know how cross She gets when your hair doesn’t dry right,” Katie was saying, in a thick Australian accent.

“Katie! Quick!” the assistant hissed again.

Katie looked up, her expression wary. “What?”

“You’re going to have to take this baby,” Nanette said.

“A baby?” Katie asked, looking exasperated. “Nanette, I can’t possibly take care of a baby on top of these two.”

“Look, he’s probably going to just sleep the entire time. I promise he won’t bother anyone,” Chloe said, standing up. She put a possessive hand on the handle of the stroller.

“No,” Nanette snapped.

“Absolutely not,” Assistant Number Two echoed.

“Fine, give him here,” Katie said wearily. She left behind the two boys—who promptly ran over to the pristine white couch and began jumping up and down on it—and pulled William’s carriage roughly away from Chloe.

“Um,” Chloe said. Watching the nanny wheel her son away, toward the rowdy boys, made her incredibly uncomfortable. All of her mommy instincts were on high alert, whistling an alarm.

“Come on. We’re running behind schedule,” the male assistant snapped.

I’m only going to be one room away, and Katie is a professional child-care provider
, Chloe tried to reason with herself. Finally, reluctantly, she turned and followed the bossy male assistant out of the living room, although she couldn’t help casting one final worried look back at her sleeping baby before she left.

Fiona Watson was smaller than Chloe had expected her to be. Chloe knew the actress was thin—Fiona was known for her sticklike figure, which she claimed to maintain through a macrobiotic diet and four hours of yoga a day—but she hadn’t known how short she was. The movie star looked like a little pixie curled up on the white chaise longue on one side of the master bedroom, an open script on her lap, her long blonde hair piled up on top of her head. Fiona had on a thick white terry-cloth robe, and her feet were tucked up underneath her. She looked delicately, ethereally beautiful.

“Fuck me,” the actress muttered, not looking up when Chloe and Assistant Number Two entered the room. “This fucking script sucks. There’s no way in fucking hell I’m going to play the cute little ingenue anymore.” She mispronounced the word
ingenue
as
in-genuine
. “I’m fucking sick of it. I’m sick of wrinkling my nose and smiling, and sick of everyone thinking I’m the fucking prom queen. I want to be taken seriously!”

“Fiona,” Assistant Number Two said, shooting Chloe a worried look. Suddenly, he seemed to realize that she was the Press and therefore someone they should tread lightly around. Chloe wondered why he hadn’t thought of that before he and Nanette had referred to William as
it.
“This is the reporter from
Pop Art
, here to interview you.”

“I’m Chloe Truman,” Chloe said. She smiled uncertainly at Fiona Watson. It was surreal coming face-to-face with such a huge star.

For just a scant moment, Fiona Watson looked dismayed. But then suddenly her face transformed, lit up by her world-famous smile.

She’s so beautiful
, Chloe thought wistfully, as she took in the finely boned face, the perfectly straight white teeth, the clear pale skin.

“Thank you so much for coming. I’m a huge fan of
Pop Art
,” Fiona said sweetly, tilting her head to one side fetchingly. “Please, sit down. Faber, get our guest a drink. What would you like, Chloe? Iced tea? Freshly squeezed juice?”

Chloe gratefully sank down on the white linen wing chair. She’d once read a gossip piece that claimed Fiona Watson always insisted that her hotel and dressing rooms be all white—white furniture, white flowers, white everything. And, actually, the bedroom was decorated in a white palette—a white upholstered headboard, white duvet, whitewashed armoire—although the walls were a pale blue and the patterned carpet was tan and gray.

“No thank you, I’m fine,” Chloe said, smiling at Assistant Number Two. What had Fiona Watson said his name was? Faber? It didn’t sound like a real name, and Chloe wondered if he’d made it up.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” Faber said sycophantically, and closed the door behind him as he left the bedroom.

“So, I thought we could start off talking about your new film,” Chloe began, nervously rifling through her briefcase for her tape recorder and pad. She checked to make sure she’d put a tape in and then turned the tape recorder on. “The name of the movie is
Lamp Light
, correct?” Fiona Watson nodded, still smiling beatifically. Chloe noticed that the actress’s eyes looked a bit empty. “Would you tell me a bit about your character in the film?”

“I play Della Fox, a brilliant forensic psychiatrist working with the FBI to track a serial killer. I become concerned that one of the agents—played by Brad Ford, who’s just
amazing
in the movie—might be the killer. And, of course, I’m falling in love with Brad’s character, which further compli—what the hell is
that
?” Fiona suddenly snapped, her voice turning hard and shrill.

“That” was the sound of a baby crying. And not just any baby.
William
. Chloe would know his cry anywhere. She jumped to her feet and hurried out of the room, calling back over her shoulder to Fiona, “Um, sorry, excuse me, just give me one second!”

Chloe rushed toward the living room, which was down the hall from Fiona’s bedroom, just past the kitchenette with its marble counters and skinny stainless-steel refrigerator. The stroller was still where Chloe had left it, but William wasn’t in it. Chloe looked around anxiously. The stylists and beauticians were still lounging about the room, as was Faber, but the nanny, the boys, and—most importantly—
William
were nowhere to be seen. Where was he? Where had Katie taken him? Anxiety roiled up in Chloe, burning at her throat and mouth. She could still hear William’s sobs, but as she turned around and around, she couldn’t figure out where they were coming from.

“Faber, do you know where my baby is?” Chloe asked. She was trying to stay calm and not freak out, but her voice was high and strained.

“Back in the boys’ bedroom,” Faber said, nodding in the direction of the second hall. Chloe dashed off in the direction he’d indicated.

“Are you done with the interview already?” Faber called after her.

“No,” she replied, trying to sound upbeat and professional. “Just give me one minute.”

Chloe burst into the bedroom without knocking. Inside, a harassed-looking Katie was rocking a screaming William in her arms, while Quincy and Satchel were grappling over an enormous Super Soaker water gun. It wasn’t until Chloe had reached for her crying baby, folding him into her arms, that she noticed his T-shirt was damp.

“What happened?” Chloe asked, cradling William against her.

“The boys were playing with their water gun,” Katie said.

“It was an accident,” Quincy protested.

“No, it wasn’t,” Satchel said.

“Was too!”

“Was not!”

Quincy lunged at Satchel, who nimbly sidestepped the attack and, as he did so, knocked over a glass of juice that had been resting on the side table. The juice splashed onto the snow-white duvet, staining it orange, and dripped down on the carpet. Satchel dove, aiming the Super Soaker at his brother, but Quincy batted the plastic gun barrel away from him—and right at Chloe.

“Ack!” Chloe yelped as a heavy stream of cold water doused her and William. William howled with fresh fury, and Chloe looked down at her now-dripping-wet baby—not to mention her own soaked cotton blouse and wool pants. William suddenly made a hacking noise and deposited a large glob of milky spit-up on Chloe’s shoulder, before returning to his wailing with fresh enthusiasm.

Chloe patted William’s back, made shushing noises, and kissed the downy hair on his head, but William, unmoved by these gestures of maternal soothing, continued to shriek.

“Boys!” Katie was shouting to be heard. “No!”

The boys, still tussling and still grappling over the water gun, both dove onto the floor. Chloe quickly backed up before they could hit her with a stream of water again, then turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. She heard Katie shriek and guessed that the nanny had also gotten Super Soaked.

I wonder how much Fiona pays her to watch those terrors
, Chloe thought. Whatever it was, Katie earned every penny.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked William, as she carried him back out to the living room of the suite. His cries grew more pitiful as he inhaled raggedly. Ignoring the annoyed looks of Faber and company, Chloe rustled around in the diaper bag, still stuffed at the bottom of the stroller, for a dry outfit. She set William down on the couch, unsnapped the wet one-piece romper he’d had on, and replaced it with a soft pair of green pants and a matching green-and-blue-striped T-shirt with a frog appliqué on the front. William stopped crying and looked up at his mother with solemn, blinking eyes, as if to say, “Please don’t leave me alone with these people again.”

“Ms. Watson’s time is really much too valuable—” Faber began reprovingly.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Chloe said. She glanced down at herself. The Super Soaker had hit her square in the stomach and her trousers. It looked as though she’d peed herself. Well.
Nothing I can do about that now
, she thought grimly, although she did clean the spit-up off her shoulder as best she could with a wet wipe.

Still cradling William in one arm, she unlatched his car seat from where it was docked to the stroller and carried both baby and seat back into Fiona Watson’s room, moving quickly before Faber could figure out what she was doing and stop her. Fiona was just where Chloe had left her, lounging prettily on the chaise. She smiled vacantly at Chloe—until her wide blue eyes fixed on the baby. And then the smile slipped from her face, and her lovely features rearranged into a scowl.