Scrambled Babies (9 page)

“You’ve reached Wally’s Plumbing and Heating.  We’re not here right now.  But your call is important to us.  So if you’ll leave your name, number—”

Steve numbly replaced the phone in its cradle.  He looked at the infant girl.  Was he crazy, or was there a tiny hint of mischief in her wonderful smile?

Chapter 4

Paeton, Madison, boy infant, and Fred arrived at the real estate office.  It was close to six o’clock.  Now that she knew it was simply a matter of time until she was reunited with Kelsey, she found looking for a new home a positive distraction.  Paeton had planned to buy a home in Beverly Hills as soon as she got the screenwriting contract.  Fred’s idea of house-hunting turned out to be a welcome preoccupation while they were waiting for Kaselman to call.  Nonetheless, she kept eyeing the jacket pocket that held Fred’s cell phone. 

She had always wanted to be part of the glamour of Hollywood.  Besides, if she was going to write the screenplay for one novel, why not another?  Who could tell?  Maybe she would end up only writing original screenplays.  They were sure a lot shorter!  Of course, there were still the untold hours of research. 

Fred parked the rental car in front of the real estate office.  They started to walk inside.  Vera Kredabal, the owner of InKredabal Hollywood Homes, Inc., erupted from the door.  Her outlandish six-inch stiletto heels were rivaled only by her lime-green lamé stirrup pants and sharp-pink, low-cut, cashmere sweater. 

Paeton rolled her eyes at Fred and turned back toward the car.  Fred grabbed her by the arm, trying to be as nonchalant about her reaction as possible, whispering,  “Unfortunately, she has the best listings in town.”  He raised his head to greet Vera.  “Vera.  Hi.  Is Bryce inside?”

“Oh, Fred, and this must be Paeton!  How simply marvelous to see you both!”  Paeton started to respond, but Vera pushed ahead full speed.  She reached down and pinched Madison’s cheek.  “Oh, what a princess, Paeton!”  Then she peeked into the childseat.  “And your new baby!  Oh, she’s—you have two girls as I recall from the newspapers—just precious.  You must be so proud, Paeton.  Scrumptious, they’re both simply scrumptious, Paeton!”  Then she whirled to her waiting limo, waved her hand, and called over her shoulder.  “I must rush, darlings.  Sorry I can’t stay so we could have a latte and some excruciatingly vibrant conversation.  Yes, Fred, Bryce is waiting for you.”  She stopped before entering the vehicle and eyed Paeton up and down.  “And I must say, dear heart, you are certainly worth waiting for!  Ta-taaa!”  Vera Kredabal was ushered into her metal-flake yellow stretch limo by Waldo, her chauffeur, and off she sped.

Vera’s offices reflected her attire.  Bright chartreuse, cerise, and lavender neon frames surrounded large photos of multimillion-dollar homes.  The oversized, pastel-colored phones looked as though they should be eaten instead of answered.  “Ring-a-ling-a-lime!”  “Ring-a-ling-a-pink!”  Paeton had never heard such showy rings.

A tall, dark, trim and tan, twenty-something man clopped out of an office.  He was dressed in a Hawaiian short-sleeve shirt, Guess cutoffs, and Birkenstock sandals.  Hanging from his neck on a large gold chain was a pair of huge-framed, gold and silver, mirrored sunglasses.  His toenails sported a stars-and-stripes-forever nail-polish job.  Paeton could hear loud heavy-metal music caroming off the walls of his office.  Bryce Thryce extended his perfectly manicured hand.  “Hello, hello, hello!  Paeton and Fred!  I’m Bryce Thryce,” came the sugar-sales greeting.  He had a big name tag on his shirt.

Fred took his hand.  Paeton kept hers clasped together.  “Bryce.  Glad you had time for us.  Paeton, this is Bryce Thryce.  Bryce, Paeton.”

“How do you do, Bryce.” 
Bryce Thryce?
  Paeton decided that Hollywood real estate agents must pick stage names as actors do.

“Paeton!  Paeton!  Paeton!  How sensational to meet you!”  Paeton saw the dollar signs register in his eyes as he checked his oversized, diamond-studded Mickey Mouse watch.  “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”  Bryce walked briskly past them and out the door.  “Time is money!  Time is money!  Time is money!”

They toured several Hollywood mansions in Bryce’s metallic purple Ferrari with fuchsia and white racing strips.  Paeton sat on the soft leather, body-contoured, front seat, while Fred sat sideways in the back, both children on his legs.  Paeton noticed that for all Bryce’s outrageous, movie-production facade, underneath swam a business barracuda.  He wasted no time.  He showed her exactly what she had asked for.  He knew his product cold. 

When they pulled up to a traditional, Martha’s-Vineyard-feeling home, Paeton’s eyes brightened.  “Oh, I think I’m going to like this!”

Bryce opened her door.  “Isn’t this something!  Isn’t this something!  Isn’t this something!”

Fred asked, “The price?”

Bryce held up his expensively ring-clad hand.  “Give it a chance!  Give it a chance!  Give it a chance!”

Paeton walked up the quaint pathway to the front door, swinging the childseat at her side.  The path had wonderful gardens on either side.  Flowers, chosen for their color and fragrance, waved orange, yellow, and purple, and wafted cinnamon, lavender, and almond.  Hand-carved into the huge teak door was a scene from Lewis Carroll’s
Through the Looking-Glass
—Alice talking to the White Rabbit as he looked at his watch. 

As Paeton got inside, she realized the entire house and yard reflected the Alice theme.  The mantelpiece surrounding the red brick fireplace was also teak.  Carved wonderfully in bas-relief was the Mad Hatter’s silly tea party.  The kitchen walls and ceiling bore paintings of the Caterpillar and the Cheshire Cat.  The built-in seat in the breakfast nook had singing mushrooms carved into its base. 

Madison
ran around touching all the wooden characters.  She pointed and laughed approvingly at the painted figures on the walls.

Paeton was enchanted.  “Maddy, isn’t this a wonderful house?”

“Oh, yes.  It comes with the Alice in Wonderland friends.”  Madison was familiar with the Disney version of Alice.  “Can we buy it, Mommy?”

“Yes, we probably will, honey.” 

Paeton felt Fred nudge her and whisper, “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.  We want the best price we can get.”

Paeton was never very good at negotiating.  That’s why she needed an agent.  She whispered back, “Okay, okay.”

Bryce hurried them outside.  “The pool, the pool, the pool.  You’ll love the pool.”

They all stood by an intriguing cartoon-heart-shaped pool.  Playing-card Queen and King and servants were gazing up at them from the bottom.  The diving board was the tusk of the Walrus’ head.

Paeton glowed.  “Oh, Fred, I have to have this house.  Isn’t it—perfect!” she finally exuded.  She could see the dollar signs pinging in Bryce’s eyes.

Fred tried to remain unemotional.  “Well, we might be interested in this home, Bryce.”

“Oh, yes.  I thought so!  I thought so!  I thought so!”  Bryce rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

Fred barked out in a no-nonsense tone, “Okay, price, Bryce?  And I mean
our
price, Bryce!”

Paeton could see Bryce’s banknote brain calculating the situation to arrive at the most money he could get from them.  “To you?  To you?  To you?”  He whipped out his calculator.  Banged on it almost angrily.  Looked up, a smile breaking out on his handsome face.  “Cool mil!”  He shoved his calculator back into his cutoffs.  “Cool mil, cool mil!”

Fred folded his arms and angled his head like a heavy weapon.  “Bryce!”

Bryce looked at Fred.  Bryce looked at Paeton.  He dug his calculator out of his cutoffs again.  He pounded on the keys unmercifully, making a guttural sound at each stroke.  He looked up to the sky several times between calculations.  Finally, he sighed a salesperson sigh.  “Fred, you’re too much.  Too much.  Too—”

Fred cut him off.  “Bryce, I got it, okay?
 Our
price?”

“Okay, maybe—maybe offer eight ninety!  Eight ninety!  Eight ninety! It’s listed at a million one.  It’s easily worth a cool mil.  But I would present an offer of eight ninety.”  He flashed a pie-eating grin.  Then his eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened.  “But it’s not a full-price offer, you know.  A better offer can beat it.”

Paeton cared not a whit about the negotiations.  “Fred, I love it!  The children will love it!  How do I do an offer?  And when will I know if it’s accepted?”

Fred glared at Bryce.  “We’ll write the offer right now and give the owner twenty-four hours to respond.”

Bryce tapped his foot nervously.  “We can write the offer now.  But the owner is out-of-pocket on a safari.  Won’t be back for a week.  A week.  A week.”

Paeton looked toward Fred for help.  “Is that bad, Fred?  How many offers are there on a house?  If ours is first, don’t we get it?”

Bryce started to answer.  Fred held up his hand.  “Bryce has to present all offers to the owner.  It’s possible someone may make another, better offer before the owner gets back.”

“Make the offer full price.  Full price.  Full price.  Then no one can beat out your offer.”  Bryce adjusted his expensive watch, checking the time.  Time was money.  “I can’t present it until the owner—”

“Okay, Bryce.  How long has the house been on the market?”  Bryce hesitated, playing with his sunglasses this time.  Fred added forcefully, “I want the truth!”

“Okay, okay, okay.  About—eighteen months.”  Bryce mumbled the last two words.

“Eighteen months?”  Fred laughed confidently.  He turned to Paeton.  “This house is what they call a dog, Paeton.  It’s been on the market forever.  Probably not expensive enough for the Hollywood set.  A million dollars is not a lot of money out here.”

Paeton frowned.  “A dog house?  I’m buying a dog house because it’s not expensive?  I don’t want an expensive house.  I want this house.  I don’t care if people think it’s a dog house or not.  It’s charming.  It’s wonderful.  It’s us.”