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Authors: Babe Hayes

Scrambled Babies (8 page)

BOOK: Scrambled Babies
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“Crissake, Stevie, there’s one of those every week!  Besides, what’s that got to do with you?  You okay?  Where’s your head?  You know what I think?  I think you need a vacation, you know that?  You and me on a beach somewhere.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, right.  But I need a vacation especially
from
you, Pony.”

He knew the remark would trigger a case of the sulks.  “Aw, Stee-vie!  Don’t say that,” she whined.  He couldn’t stand whiners.  “I hate it when you kid like that.  I could make you happy, Stevo.  I really could.  Why won’t you give me a chance?”  He could picture her pouting with those big, beautiful lips that left “Stevie” cold.  “The reason I called was to tell you I’ll be in Boston this week. I could come up and visit you in the booth if you’d let me.”

“Pony, you’re a pal.  Okay?  A real pal.  You helped me when I was getting into the business.  You’ve bailed out my rear more than once.  But, Pony, you know the rules.  And besides, Vin would kill me.  You know how he hates it when there’s anyone unscheduled in the booth.”  He had to get rid of her.  “Pony, tell you what—whoops, Ryan just peed on me.  Fatherhood calls.  See you later.  Thanks for the call, kid.”  And he hung up.

The infant girl next to him made a pleasant baby noise, bubbles coming out of her sweet mouth.

Steve smiled in spite of his predicament. 
Who are you, sweetheart?  And how do I get myself out of the scariest and most hysterical goddam screw-up of my life?

 

#

 

Steve touched down in Boston at one-thirty and grabbed a cab.  He reviewed his schedule again.  Okay, between now and nine or so, his day provided no time for resolving his huge dilemma.  Story due by three.  Remote for his weekday sportscast at five.  And at six, the game, which would probably go to nine.  He’d have to keep the baby with him.  He couldn’t risk leaving the kid with a nanny who might know his baby was supposed to be a boy.  He felt a rock-hard knot of tension growing between his shoulders.

He entered the Keller Building and rode the elevator to the fifth-floor network suite, the childseat swinging next to him like an albatross.  He picked up the telephone at the desk reserved for him and one other writer who always worked graveyard.  He punched out a number.  He knew his chances were slim, but he couldn’t wait to ask Lena if some woman called leaving a message that she had his baby.  She might have recognized him when they collided.  After all, people saw him on TV all the time.

Whoops!
  He stopped abruptly.  He put the phone down.
 Wait a minute, Steve.  Don’t let anyone, especially your secretaries, know anything about this.
  That’s what Maury would advise him.  He remembered a story he had done about Wally Smokin’ Kramer, the great Indians’ pitcher.  After Kramer retired, he let his secretary in on a land scam he was part of.  The secretary blabbed to some tabloid for five hundred bucks!  Kramer never made the Hall of Fame, among other things.
 Careful, man.  Be very careful.
 

He picked up the phone again. 

“Lena?  Any important messages?   Something that can’t wait?”  He paused, hoping against hope.  “No?  Okay.  Okay.  Fine.  Yeah, listen, Lena, please hold all those for me.  Uh, Lena, I may get a, uh, well, let’s say an unusual call.  I mean, if anything kind of different comes in, page me with a nine-one-one immediately, okay?  And when Sophia comes in, tell her to do the same thing.  Got it?  Thanks.”  He hung up.

Steve looked down at the sleeping baby.  She certainly was a good kid.  Ate well, never cried.  He wondered about her mother.  Who was she?  Why did thinking about that moment when their eyes met at the airport continue to knock him out?  Why hadn’t she alerted the authorities?  How in the hell was he going to get out of the most colossal predicament he had ever encountered?

 

#

 

At ten o’clock that evening, Steve Kaselman burst back into his Boston office.  The pressure of having the baby with him in the booth during the game had reduced him to a puddle of anxiety.  Why had this happened when he was in front of the biggest audience of his life?  The worst time came when the baby started to cry, and he had to leave the booth to change the little girl.  He wondered what the global TV audience had thought.  He could barely remember what he had said when the camera was on him.  Then he had been so preoccupied, he wondered if he had said anything idiotic while doing the rest of the game.  He thought he noticed Vin give him a few what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about looks during the stint.  As he approached his desk, he hoped Sophia hadn’t left.

He speed-dialed his New York office number. 

“You’ve reached the office of Steve Kaselman, please leave a  message—” 
Dammit!  She’s left already!  Does she always have to leave right on time?  Why can’t—?

A voice came in over the message.  “Hold on, hold on.  I’m still here.”

“Thank god, Sophia.  Any important messages?” 

“Only the usual, boss.  Fifteen from women who have extremely important and sensitive sports scoops for you.”  Steve’s silence must have carried his anxiety.  “Something wrong, boss?  What were you doing with Ryan in the booth?  I thought you left him with Greta when you were traveling.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it, Sophia.  I need to be more hands-on with the baby.  I said I would in the beginning.  Then I tried to hide the fact that I wasn’t.  But everybody knew I didn’t take Ryan on the road with me.  So I’m turning over a new leaf.”  He looked down at the baby.  “Right, Ryan?  Daddy’s going to keep you close by him from now on.”  He renewed the message request.  “Come on, what’ve you got?  Anything unusual?”

Sophia sighed loudly.  Steve could hear her deliberately slam her cumbersome purse, bang, down on her desk.  “Okay, boss.  Let me look through stuff again.  But I can’t stay here forever, okay?  I’ve got a date.”

“Okay, okay.  Help me out here, please.  It’s important.”

“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on, boss.  Maybe I could help.”

“Just any messages that you think can’t wait until tomorrow.  That’d be a big help, thanks.”  Steve could hear the rattle of paper. 

“No.  Nothing unusual, boss.  Can I go now?”

“Are you positive?  Be sure, Sophia.  This is really important.”

Another prolonged sigh, and Steve heard her plop heavily into her chair.  “Except, uh, well, uh, there was one from some kook who met you at an airport.”

Steve groaned.  “Oh, god!  Sophia, why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“Well, you get a lot of messages sometimes from women who say they meet you at airports!”

“Yes, but this time it’s different.  Did she say what airport?  Did she say when?  What did she say?” 
Oh, my god!  This could be her!

“She didn’t say what airport.  But she wanted you to know what her favorite candy bar was.”

“What her favorite candy bar was?” 
Favorite candy bar?  What the hell does—?  My god!  What if the woman is bonkers?  What if this isn’t her kid?  What if she kidnapped someone else’s kid and then traded kids to get to Ryan?  And to me?  Is she going to hold Ryan for ransom?  But she didn’t look crazed or anything.  Christ, she looked and smelled wonderful!

“Boss, I told you she was a kook.  Can I go now?”

“Wait one more minute.  Well, what
was
her favorite candy bar?”

“Baby Ruth!”

“Oh, my god!  It is her!”  For a moment his mind went blank.  He struggled to talk intelligently while not revealing anything.  “Uh, Sophia, uh, um, listen, I mean—”

“I’m listening, boss.  What do you mean, it’s her?  It’s who, boss?  Boy, this candy-bar babe sure has you in a mess.”  Steve could tell Sophia smelled some gossip and wanted in.

Steve was unable to keep his voice from rising.  “Uh, never mind.  Sophia what—what else did she say?  Did she leave a phone number?”

“Boss, you don’t have to yell.  I’m doing the best I can.”  Steve could feel her administrative brain working.  “That’s it.  That she had an extremely sensitive sports story, she met you at an airport, and to tell you her favorite candy bar was Baby Ruth.  Yeah, she left a number.”  There was a pregnant pause.  “Why’s a kook’s phone number so important?”

“That’s my business, thank you.  Did she mention where she was staying?  A hotel or anything?”

“No.  She only gave me a phone number.”

“Okay. Give me that number—now, uh, please.  Sophia.”  Steve knew from years of experience there was no pushing Sophia around.

“Okay.  Wait a second.  You don’t have to get snippity about it.  I’m trying to do my job as always.  Hold on, boss.” 

Steve heard Sophia lay the phone on the desk.  Then he heard the rustling of paper.

“Sophia!  Did you throw that message in the wastebasket?”  Steve knew she could hear him even though the phone was on the desk.  “Sophia?”

She picked up the phone.  “Okay, okay.  Don’t get so excited.  I’ve got it right here.  No reason to get so upset about it.  I’ve got it.  It’s because you told me to always trash all the kooky—”

Steve was pacing wildly.  “I know, I know.  I’m sorry.  What’s the number?  Hurry, please!”  Silence.  Then Steve heard a sound he recognized from Sophia’ history of message-giving.  “What’s that crinkling sound?  You spit your gum in it, didn’t you?”

Sophia did not answer Steve’s accusation.  “I’ve got the first part, boss.  The first part is seven one four.”

“So she’s in L.A.  That’s the L.A. area code.  Okay, what’s the rest, Sophia?”  His teeth hurt from clenching them in impatience with her.

“I can’t read it, boss.”

He tried not to explode.  “Then remember it!  Please!  Sophia.  There’s a bonus in it for you, okay?  What’s the rest?  Please think hard.”  Steve could visualize Sophia grabbing her head with both hands in an effort to probe her often sluggish memory.

“I’m trying, boss.”  Pause.  “I still don’t see what’s so important about—”

“Please, Sophia.”

“Okay, boss.  I’m trying.  I’m trying real hard.”

“Good, Sophia!  Good!  Take your time.  Take all the time you need.”  Steve snatched an empty Styrofoam cup off the desk and began shredding it while he waited.  He heard the door open to the office.  Some executive’s aide entered and sat down at a nearby computer.

“I’ve got a date, you know.”

“I know you have a date.  Please try for a few minutes.  I’ll wait.”

Several minutes of silence ensued.  Steve never stopped circling the small space in front of his desk.  He never stopped clenching his teeth.  Concentration and anxiety weighed heavily on the phone line.  Finally, the silence was broken by an elated Sophia.  “I’ve got it, boss!  I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”

“Great, Sophia, great!  Give it to me!”  Steve watched his hand tremble as he gripped his pen.

“I think it’s five seven two, oh eight five three—no, wait, or was it eight three—”

Steve was actually pulling on his hair.  “Well, which was it, Sophia?  For god’s sake!”

“Just a minute, just a minute.  Five seven two, uh, no, yeah, five seven two, eight oh three five.  That’s it, seven one four, five seven two, eight oh three five.”

“You sure, Sophia?  I can’t tell you how important—”

“That’s it, boss.  Honest.  Got it?”

“Yes, I’ve got it.  Thank you.”

“Can I go now, boss?”

“Yes, yes.  Go!  Go on your date.”

“Okay.  Bye, boss.”  She hung up.

Steve dialed the number, breathing as if he had just played double-overtime of playoff ball.  He misdialed.  He dialed again.  Steve misdialed the number three times before he got it right.  He heard it ring at the other end.

BOOK: Scrambled Babies
2.81Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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