 
### PREGNANT WITHOUT A CAUSE

BY

WILSHIRE LEWIS

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 by Wilshire Lewis and FAHP

All Rights Reserved.

CONTENTS

I. BABY BOOMER

II. THE SHOW

III. THE SHOWER

IV. ONE AFTERNOON

V. THE DIVE

VI. PROTECTIVE SERVICES

VII. PLAY THE FIGHT SONG

## I. BABY BOOMER

## CHAPTER ONE

It really annoyed Callie Scharf when know-it-alls blabbed about how children suffer from a divorce and blame themselves. Sure Callie suffered, but she knew who was responsible. Her father got 75% of the blame for being a selfish brute, and her mother 25% for being a hysterical twit. But herself? Zero percent. In fact, Null Set. She had other problems. School started Monday.

Callie walked down the main breezeway of Cholla Vista High School from the gym to the parking lot, the single sheet of her new class schedule waving in her hand with an immeasurable weight, an outline of her dread. The buildings and campus sat deserted and huge, baking. And waiting. Callie imagined the same sidewalk as it would be on Monday: crowded with students bumping shoulders, oozing attitude, shouting stupidities. Her peers.

So was she ready for school? She did the rundown. Massive thighs? Check. Hideous clothes? Definitely. Zits galore? Well, there was still time.

The sidewalk was speckled with dots of gray, green, and pink gum, dried and flattened into pepperonis on the concrete. Callie sighed. Could the idiots in this school possibly keep their gum in their sodding mouthes? She turned the corner and stepped out into the full force of the sun. Naturally it was hot. Phoenix. August. What else would it be but hot? Her mother's car—complete with mother, code name Michelle—stood waiting at the edge of the frayed, empty parking lot. Callie opened the door and slid in. At least the air conditioning was already on. One brief shining moment in her day. She clicked the seat belt into place.

Her mother smiled at her with a cheerfully determined expression against which any and all complaints would be pulverized into little puffballs. "Well, how's it look?"

Callie pulled the car door closed and stared at the massive school. She didn't want to talk about it, she just wanted to go home. "Not bad. I got Photo. And Zam's in it."

A cell phone made a soft tinkle in the purse on the floor. Callie knew that in her mother's condition it would be a struggle to reach that far, so she bent to retrieve it. Her mother put up her hand. "No. It's only Edouard. This week it's nearly always Edouard."

"Because of the show?"

"Of course," she sighed. "What else?"

Edouard was her mother's on-again, off-again, off-again, off-again boyfriend. Not one of Callie's favorite people, nor, she had thought until a few days ago, one of her mother's. But then Edouard and Michelle became finalists on _Fat Chance_. And now they were definitely on-again, again. So Edouard would be back in Callie's life. What a bonus.

Her mother started the car and drove toward the parking lot exit. "Admit it, are you excited for school?"

" _Excited!_ " Bollocks cheerful! Callie needed to make her see how awful this year was going to be. "I do _not_ want to go to school, Mom. At least not this school."

"You don't have to." The determined look hardened. "Not until Monday."

Not until Monday. So amusing.

Her mother smiled. "You are smart, pretty, friendly, funny." All she needed was pom poms. "You have a lot going..."

"What I am is a great, fat cow."

Callie got that from BBC America, her choice of bad cable channels this summer. On BBC, any female, even a supermodel, could be a great, fat cow. It was funny. But she really was fat now, fatter than she had ever been. Callie knew there were more important things in life than looks. She knew her mother had much more important problems, what with her coming blessed event. But Callie's selfish, petty problems _hurt!_

"Well, there's nothing you can do about that in one weekend. Calories in—"

Callie did not want to hear it. "Yes, yes! Calorie algebra! _A_ in minus _B_ out equals your past, present, and future. Yes, I will remember that when those sodding cows give me a dirty look when they pass, like they are having to walk around the sodding iceberg that smashed the sodding Titan..." She really had to stop it. "I also got band. Marching around in that sod— that uniform will take ten pounds off. All it will be is water weight of course."

"No, marching is calories out." Her mother slid her sunglasses up onto her hair like a barrette. "See, that's _problem solving_. Like we've talked about."

God, not again. Callie closed her eyes. Her mother couldn't see how hopeless it was. She had never been a toad. Though chubby, and at the moment big as an Escalade, Michelle had the kind of old-fashioned beauty Callie knew she had not inherited, including gorgeous honey-brown hair with natural blonde highlights.

"You have such a great band." Her mother smiled stubbornly. "I love to hear you guys."

"Debbie Arthur graduated." Callie sighed.

"Who's Debbie Arthur?"

"The _glockenspiel?_ She's the reason we went to State. She's the one everyone cared about."

"All right, all right!"

They drove in silence through the relentless noontime. The single pedestrian they passed didn't look sweaty, but you knew he had to be.

"Yeah," said Callie, still staring out the window. "So by Christmas, I can look forward to just being dumpy again, but not the Pillsbury Doughgirl."

"Would that be better or worse?"

"Better," Callie grunted. But her Christmas look wouldn't help her on Monday. "Hardly anyone has seen me this summer except Zam and Fiona. So everyone will notice that I'm fat. They won't know my name or anything about me but that here's this great fat prat of a cow. They won't _care_."

"Callie, dear, attitude is everything."

"Oh, stow that." Callie turned away. "And what will I _wear?_ " She shouted at the window glass. "That won't make me look, _A_ , bloated, or _B_ , like I'm trying to hide my bloatedness?"

"You've got some very nice clothes."

Callie slumped back into the seat, defeated. Oh, for a time machine or some similar miracle to get her to a slim, happy future where people actually liked her.

***

With this hopeless mood firmly in control of her daughter, Michelle decided to skip the lunch and shopping she had originally planned. By the time they arrived home, her appetite and energy were gone anyway. She made tuna melts and set them on the table, but then she told Callie, "I'm going to go lie down. You eat."

Callie gave her that all-purpose guarded look that indicated disbelief, relief, concern, suspicion, and many other feelings. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just tired out." Michelle assumed what she hoped was a benign expression. Nothing was okay, and might not be again. She walked through the house to her bedroom, pulled the chain on the ceiling fan and eased herself onto the bed.

Problem solving. It had been her watchword for months, trying to push Callie to deal with life as it was, in a rational way, rather than the pouting and throwing snits that seemed to be her first choice of response. A double pang of regret stabbed Michelle. Because of the taping on Monday, she would not be home when Callie left for her first day of sophomore year. No, it wasn't the first day of kindergarten, but it was still important. So she had wanted them both to get a handle on things today. Get Callie her schedule, buy supplies, maybe some clothes. Whatever it took to put a smile on the girl's face.

But Michelle knew her daughter's life was not going to change due to a little shopping and some cheerful chatter. Because—the second pang—she herself was Callie's biggest problem. Not in a superficial, do-your-homework-young-lady way, but in a profound and true way. It went way beyond the divorce, and the adjustments they'd had to make, all of them painful. Michelle could blame Craig for all those things, and she could almost believe that it had really been her ex-husband's fault. But at night, in the dark, Michelle knew the harm she had caused, the bad things she had done. Each and every one.

The noontime sun made hot white slits around the edges of the blinds. If Michelle got up and pulled the curtains closed, the light leak would dim to a soft, indirect glow. But she was too tired to get up, and it was just a white strip. She hoisted herself over on her side and faced the wall. The air from the fan cooled her bare, damp arm.

How could she believably tell Callie to _deal with life_ , when for months she had kept a secret simply because she knew how people would react to it. Like the secret's father, Edouard. If she was going to tell him, she had better get cracking. Twenty-eight days left, and whatever doubts she still had, the papa needed to know.

She'd met Edouard a year ago, the month her divorce was final. He seemed nonjudgmental, kind-hearted, and for some reason infatuated with her. Their love warmed up quickly, particularly on a memorable night in Park City that still made her shiver with pleasure and dread. They had gone there for a Friends of Animals festival or fundraiser. Michelle wasn't really sure—it was Edouard who was the friend of animals.

That had been the night. Michelle didn't need a doctor with a calendar to tell her. There was no other possible night. The next night, feeling suddenly feverish and altogether dicey, she threw up on an ice sculpture of an Airedale terrier, and Edouard spent quite a few minutes trying to clean up the mess, which unfortunately bonded almost immediately to the bumpy coat of the ice dog, and the rest of the evening taking care of her. Later they laughed and laughed.

The good times continued for a while. In February, on a lark, they auditioned for _Fat Chance_ , the couples challenge show. They decided that their challenge would be to lose 100 pounds between them in six months, and they both were excited about that. The show people were interested enough to bring them in for a second interview and taping session.

Meanwhile Michelle's condition overrode her denial in April. The truth terrified her. What would Edouard say? He would want the baby, and her, wouldn't he? She delayed telling him. But as the weeks went by, her fears seemed silly. Edouard was the only really happy thing in her life, and the people at the show told them they had a good chance to make the cast. Since she was pregnant and eating everything in sight, going on a diet was definitely out, but _Fat Chance_ was not a weight-loss show, so she convinced Edouard to come up with some other interesting challenge before the real filming started. He had some ideas about a business catering weddings and other events at a wildlife preserve that made the producer's eyes twinkle. Michelle decided the time had come to break the happy news to Edouard.

The words were almost on her lips when the show was cancelled. That didn't really bother Michelle, though she could have used the money. But Edouard took it hard. In the next few weeks he seemed to withdraw from her into a secret spiral of depression and hostility. Michelle was shocked. Had she been nothing to him but a TV sidekick? She held on to her secret a little longer.

She had felt the wobbles in their relationship. At forty years old, she expected some of that. But Edouard just seemed to have lost his mind. Suddenly Michelle could never get a hold of him, and he would do things like send her flowers, and then when she called to thank him he acted so morose or impatient that it completely cancelled the positive effect of the thoughtful gift. As Michelle saw him less and less, any thought of raising a child together faded away. She would have the baby on her own, and deal with it on her own. No one would ever be able to accuse her of using a baby as a club on a poor, pudgy bachelor.

Then, day before yesterday, _Fat Chance_ called. They were back on! Michelle and Edouard had been chosen as cast members, and filming started Monday, right here in Phoenix, and could they be there? My, how gloriously Edouard's sun broke through to shine on her again! The cell phone she'd thought was broken now began to generate reams of affectionate data. After the first call she had felt excited and hopeful. Maybe it would work, after all. She decided to tell him this weekend, and tell the show people on Monday. And their new challenge could be having a baby. That seemed a lot more dramatic than anything else they'd thought of. And working through the problems she'd had with Edouard this summer—the inability to communicate, the withdrawal— all that. Maybe, just maybe, they would become a real couple. And even more maybe-ish, they would get married.

But then Edouard called back again, and again, full of plans. With each call Michelle grew more depressed and angry. He had some new ideas he wanted to pitch to the TV people and vague, happy dreams for him and her. It was like the miserable summer never happened. And she really resented that, because he had been awful to her.

Michelle lay there staring at the picture on the nightstand. Herself with Callie five or six years ago, when her girl was only nine, with big uncertain teeth bursting out of a confident smile. Only Callie and Michelle's mother knew the secret of her pregnancy, and Callie had been a great comfort, but she was having a tough time already. And now add Edouard to the family, and a baby? And what kind of a start was she giving the baby in all that possible, or potential—alright _probable_ turmoil. And could Michelle even see herself living with and loving Edouard?

She could not. The time had come to seriously consider Plan B.

Callie came into the room, a look of concern on her face. She sat on the edge of the bed, and clasped Michelle's hand.

Michelle said, "I was going to tell him tonight."

Callie nodded. "You probably should."

"No. It's too late."

"Still a month."

"No." Michelle squeezed her daughter's hand. "It's too late for me and him. Edoo's story is not about getting married and having a baby. His story is about how this is the start of his career in TV. He won't understand why I waited to tell him. He will hate me."

"When he sees you he'll know you're preggers."

"No. No one can tell. How could they, such a great old cow."

"Well, I can almost see how you could get it over on Edoo. But at the show they'll know it in a minute. Then how will he feel?"

"Yes, that would be even worse. He'll be humiliated. I'll be..." Michelle saw that it wouldn't work. "So there goes the show. Bye-bye easy money."

"If you do that, he'll kill you even worse. He won't have a partner. It's a _couples_ challenge."

Michelle was all too aware of that. She sat up, panting from that little effort, and placed her fingers on the soft, round world that contained her troubled baby boy. She forced back tears Callie could not be allowed to see.

"I've got some errands." She stood up, found her shoes, and went into the bathroom to check her face in the mirror. The baby kicked Michelle in the liver. He did that whenever Michelle thought about rejecting him. She had not told Callie about the adoption agency. Plan B.

***

"Normally, we like to have more lead time," said the adoption counselor. "That way we can work with expectant mothers."

Michelle sighed. The lady was obviously implying that Michelle had not only been irresponsible in getting pregnant, but also slack about the adoption. "I filled out the papers in July. But I had doubts."

"No worries." The adoption woman had the cutest little crinkle in her forehead when she smiled. "We can provide resources." The woman had come out from behind her oak laminate desk and pulled up a chair facing Michelle—a move clearly intended to establish rapport. A very human thing to do. So why did it make Michelle feel crowded? She eased herself up a little straighter in the chair, giving her knees an extra inch of space.

"I'm sure you have other mothers who need resources more than I do," Michelle said, referring to what she assumed was the typical unwed mother: poor, ignorant, and victimized. True, Michelle was poor and jobless, she had been victimized by Craig in the divorce, by her last employer when they fired her to get her off their medical plan, and by Edouard when he turned out to be such a fatuous jerk, but at least no one could say that she was _ignorant_. Even if she had skipped most of her prenatals, which was a result of the getting laid off part. "This is my second child. I imagine you mostly get young girls, confused."

"You might be surprised. There's no such thing as a typical birth mother considering adoption. And you don't have to be young to be confused."

Michelle did not quite know how to take that last part, but there was that adorable crinkle again. The lady seemed very accepting, as adoption ladies must tend to be. It's what they do. Accept. Receive.

"I simply can't care for him now. For family reasons. You see, the father disappeared." Yeah, the _man_ was still there, but the potential husband and father Michelle had been looking for in him had probably never existed.

"We have a number of great families looking for infants and newborns. Newborns in particular, well, they're gold." The woman flipped through the papers on her lap. "I've identified one in particular. And we can give you a lot of input. Based on your preferences."

"I want to make a clean break. I don't want to see him. I don't want to form an attachment." The baby in her belly felt like he rolled his shoulders and that seemed to dislodge a gas bubble, which Michelle strove to contain. He had Boogie Fever today.

"I understand. We can handle that." The adoption lady glanced at a form on top of the pile. "You prefer a traditional adoption."

"Traditional?"

"Closed. No contact. Records sealed."

"A clean break."

"And a final break. I'm not saying there will never be contact. But it probably won't be until the child reaches legal age."

Michelle took another tissue from the box on the desk. She thought she was doing pretty well, handling her emotions with stoic grace, but now she noticed her left hand already clutched a sizable wad of damp tissues.

"We won't abandon you, though. We have resources for postpartum."

Postpartum. To go through pregnancy and birth and then just walk out of the hospital like she'd had her gall bladder out. It was the most horrible thing Michelle could imagine. That was one reason it had taken her so long to accept what she had to do. She sighed. "There's no resource that's going to solve my problems. I'm a walking, talking, pissing, puking disaster area. Hurricane Michelle, that's me."

"Ma'am?" The adoption lady leaned toward Michelle and gave her hand a firm pat. "We can handle it."

***

Callie was excited that she would soon be able to tell Zam about her baby brother. It had been tough not telling him, since he'd been almost her only confidante through the microwave summer. But she had done it. Soon she could tell him. But not until her mom spoke to Edouard tonight.

For now, they sat on opposite ends of the couch tapping texts at each other.

**Callie 4:19 pm:** Eye aint going to skool b sure to make sum nyz pics in foto class.

Shaking his head, full of indignance, Zam popped keys.

**Zam 4:19 pm** : You are a ridiculous poonhead.

**Callie 4:20 pm:** I am so srious. Will b kidnapt this wkend. Want to help?

While Zam thumbed his reply, Callie glanced at the TV, which you could tell, even with the sound down, was on BBC, because of the wanker schoolboy costumes.

**Zam 4:21 pm:** Busy must go back2skool shopping for the whole family. Zories 2 4 $4.

Callie found this very funny. As soon as her mom had come back from her errands, she had threatened to take Callie _back to school shopping_. Callie did not see why she could not just take the money and go herself. There was just one thing. "What the flock are _zories?_ "

Zam shook his head.

**Zam 4:22 pm:** Do not break radio silence. Flip flops.

**Callie 4:22 pm:** Sriously, what am I going to do? I look horrible. Feel like alien.

**Zam 4:24 pm:** Maybe Predator

They dissolved in raucous giggles.

Callie's mother came around the corner from the hall. She clutched her stomach, her eyes big and dark as jumbo olives. "It's happening."

## CHAPTER TWO

When Emergency Medical Tech Sigursky walked into the house he didn't know if he'd come to be a cabby or a midwife. The woman was splayed on the couch with her arms stretched out like a battered light heavyweight hanging on the ropes, sweating and puffing and snarling her agony. A teenage girl sat next to her, holding her hand, looking very worried. Sigursky introduced himself and made sure to give her a reassuring smile. "Well, I see you started without me."

The tighter the spot, the more you needed to open with a joke. And this spot was tight. The woman, Michelle, had on a long, loose housedress with a pattern of little black curlicues. Sigursky had only done one emerg deliv and that was what—twelve years ago? Yet the toughest part would be asking her to lift up her skirt. And having the entire station house standing around sure didn't help. He needed to get all of them out of there except Bonnie, the other EMT.

The phone on Bonnie's belt buzzed, and she jumped. She held the phone to her ear, and then handed it to Sigursky. "Medical director."

Sigursky remembered to use neutral language in front of a potentially hysterical civilian. "I think she's delighted to see us."

"She's dilated?" came the raspy reply.

"Still assessing, but certainly active."

"If she's transitional, main thing is, get her relaxed, save her strength, no pushing yet. Assess whether she'll stand the ride. I'll be standing by."

"Copy." Sigursky nodded, and handed the cell phone back to Bonnie, whose serious, alert demeanor was exactly right. Bonnie was just twenty-five or so. Sigursky was sure this would be her first emergency delivery, if it went that way. He kneeled in front of the woman and pulled on sterile gloves from a box Bonnie held in front of him.

"Okay, Michelle," he said. She was a big girl, big beyond pregnant. Not beautiful at the moment, but she had that kind of doll face that would look fine when she wasn't bug-eyed and screaming. "On a scale of one to ten, how intense are the—"

"Fifteen!" she gasped, and trembled violently. "Twenty-three. I can't do this." She gripped the young girl's hand.

"You've got to do it. He can't go back the other way without severe tire damage."

The woman groaned, either at the joke or at the pain.

"The main thing now is for you to relax." He turned to Bonnie.

She glanced up from her watch. "One minute contractions, three minutes apart."

Sigursky muttered, "This baby ain't transitional, he's goin' to the hole!" Bonnie nodded at him seriously. _Nobody_ was digging his jokes.

Turning back to Michelle, he said, "You two are moving right along. I'm not sure we're going to make it to the hospital. I can tell you've been working on breathing patterns. And that's very important."

The woman nodded.

The girl, presumably her daughter, said, "Yeah, I helped her."

"Good, good. Would you like to get into bed for a little while, Michelle? Maybe you'll be more comfortable while I check a few things out?"

The woman nodded. Sigursky and Bonnie helped her get up, and the girl led them to a large bedroom.

***

Zam felt pushed against the wall by the fire people. When they walked into the living room in their blue PFD tee shirts, their sense of purpose was like a force field. The one with the tan and the short, spiky hair was definitely in charge, probably because he looked the most like a hunky TV medic. They took Callie's mom into the bedroom and shut the door, with only Callie and the guy medic and the chick medic allowed with her. Zam went back to the couch. From the bedroom came a yell, and a curse. He was glad he wasn't in there.

When Callie's mom had come into the living room grabbing her stomach and saying a baby was coming, Zam almost laughed, the idea was so outrageous. But one look at Callie and he could see the truth, and he knew she had known it for a long time and not told him, and that made him feel weird. They were old friends and just friends, and that was the way they both wanted it. She was kind of pretty, but Zam had known her a long time, since kiddie pool days, since they played soccer and both of them mostly tried to stay as far from the ball as possible. Just too much history. So they hung out, that's all.

But still he had trouble believing that she had kept this massive secret from him. Michelle yodeled in the bedroom. Callie screamed, and the medics yelled at them and each other.

Three or four firefighters, including a couple of women, wandered between the living room and the huge red ambulance that stood idling in the driveway and the pumper truck in the street. They obviously hadn't left anyone at the station. A fireman with thick arms sat in the chair across from him, punching stuff into a laptop.

Michelle cursed lustily in the bedroom.

"Damn," said Zam. "Having a baby is noisy."

The fireman glanced up at him. "A lot noisier than having a stroke."

Zam waited for some follow-up, but the man didn't seem inclined to go on. "They were going to have me drive to the hospital. But she just kind of collapsed and couldn't move."

The fireman gave him a thoughtful look. "So that's when you called 9-1-1."

"Yeah." Zam fingered his Droid. He thought about getting the word out. Instead he searched on "childbirth," and read a paragraph. But he was too preoccupied to concentrate. Even if Callie had never said anything, Zam had been around their house all summer, and he never knew her mom was pregnant? It seemed incredible that she could be that fat, or he could be that clueless.

The fireman continued to tap on his notebook computer. A decal on the top showed a large black spade and the words _Lucky 13_.

"What's Lucky Thirteen?"

The fireman glanced up. "That's us. Station Thirteen. We call it lucky, cuz, what else ya gonna call it?"

Michelle screamed and another sound came out, a hack or a sneeze, and then a wail like a cat being skinned, and everyone in the bedroom talked very excitedly and clapped. Zam wondered if the medic clapped with his rubber gloves on. Could be messy.

The door opened and Zam followed the firefighters into the bedroom. Everyone said how quick it had been. It hadn't seemed quick to Zam.

"You would think it's my seventeenth one." Michelle's blue eyes were sunk in her face, her hair wet and loose, her smile weak. They all crowded around to see the new human. It looked exactly like... a baby, kind of surprisingly dark pink, but otherwise completely generic. Zam found the wall again. Callie seemed like the most excited person in the room, chattering at the strangers and the baby, telling how it all happened.

But in all the excitement, Zam could not help wondering why no one said anything about the father. Like, let's call the father, or, he'll be here soon, or, Daddy's on the phone. Nothing. Inexperienced he might be, but wasn't the father made a part of this at some point? And Zam sensed that the firefighters were wondering the same thing.

"My gawd!" said one of the female firefighters. "He is so handsome!"

The EMT hunk gave her a very definite look, because, as Zam understood, _he is handsome_ usually led to _just like his father_. Zam could tell that Michelle had passed up a perfect opportunity to say, "Oh, I wish Blank could have been here."

None of the firefighters would know who Blank was, they just wanted to hear a name. But Michelle did not say anything. And beneath her bright chatter, Callie's steely look meant she had at least one more secret she had not told Zam. It had to be Michelle's boyfriend, didn't it? The one Callie called Ed-wurd, or Deadwurd, or Edoo?

***

Michelle made a stink about getting into the ambulance to go to the hospital, which mystified Zam. She would not get on the gurney, and insisted on walking out to the ambulance herself, though she did allow a fireman on either side to support her by the arms. Was she hiding something from the neighbors? They could hardly miss an eight-foot-tall ambulance with flashing lights. In fact, there was already a small, casual crowd at the end of the driveway, in which Zam recognized one of the bullet-headed punks who jammed their cars into the small driveway of the house across the street. So what was Michelle's motive in walking to the ambulance? Misdirected pride? Sarah Conner toughness? Britney Spears inappropriateness?

While they helped Michelle out the door and up the steps of the ambulance, Callie grabbed Zam and pulled him back into the deserted kitchen. She stared at him from under jagged eyebrows. "No tell, no text, no tattle."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later."

"It's the show, isn't it?" Zam knew Callie's mom was trying out for a reality show. He had never heard of the show, which was on some obscure cable channel.

Callie nodded. "Of course, it's the show."

"That's why you didn't tell me."

"Of course." It was nice that she thought to put a note of pleading in her voice. "I was _sworn_."

He felt a little less lied to. A joke occurred to him. "Hey, it's _your_ birth. Ya know? Like _it's your funeral_ only..."

Callie smiled, and Zam thought, oh, what the fnork. He grabbed her hand. "I might be an emo twit, but you can count on me. I love to withhold information. Any information, from anybody. But..." He glanced around. No one was paying attention to them. "Why is the baby a secret?"

"It's not a secret." Callie tapped his forehead once, softly, with her forefinger. "It's private."

Zam considered this baffling statement. Was there some kind of Zen meaning to it, or just a bullshit meaning? At the moment he could not say.

***

Michelle lay on the bed in the cool semi-darkness, the blinds and curtains drawn against the sun. Home from the hospital at midnight, exhausted, but constantly aware of every move and breath the baby made, she hadn't really been able to sleep all night, but dropped into tiny naps while her mind kept racing and twirling. Finally, at mid-morning, they all slept quietly for a couple of hours.

Now Callie sat by her feet, holding the baby, staring down at him. Michelle wanted to hold him, but she didn't dare. Because he had to go soon. She should have called the adoption agency from the hospital, but didn't, making excuses to herself. She had insisted they give the baby formula despite her engorged breasts, and she insisted on a _small_ pack of Pampers. Now she really had to call the adoption lady. She glanced again at the phone in its charger on the nightstand, and began to cry.

"What are you crying for?" Callie kept her gaze on the boy.

"I'm not crying," said Michelle, dabbing at her cheeks. "I've got to call the adoption place."

"Oh." Callie snuggled him a little. "Say we don't?"

Michelle would not be tempted. "We shouldn't get too close. It'll make it hard."

"We're already too close." Callie cooed at the baby. "Little tosser. Little git."

Michelle stared up at the ceiling, fear and hopelessness clawing at her. "It's the only thing I can do."

Callie' voice rose sharply. " _You_ can do? What about Edouard?"

Michelle hoped to cut off the subject. "He would never understand."

"He wouldn't understand that you secretly had his baby, and you had it adopted without his knowledge?" Callie rolled her eyes. "What is wrong with the man?"

"No, he can't know." Michelle shook her head. She wasn't ready to tell Callie the whole truth. Maybe she could get by with half. "If there is no father, it's easier."

"You think he won't notice that there's a baby in the house?"

"There isn't going to be a baby in the house."

The baby gurgled and his little fists waved. Callie bounced him softly. The perfection of the two of them, the moving together so easily, reduced Michelle's resolve to tapioca. She had to call right now, or she never would.

"So, Edouard is not the father?" said Callie.

"I didn't say that."

"But you're not going to marry him. At least I was willing to try to get to like him. But giving the baby away is a much worse idea. And there has to be a father."

"Not if he abandoned me."

"Who abandoned you?" "The father."

"Who was that?" Callie gave her a disbelieving look. Callie had never asked that question throughout the whole pregnancy.

"He _abandoned_ me." Michelle searched her memory banks for a suitable fictional father. "Leaving nothing but a braided chain. He was a sailor."

"A whated who? A sailor?" Callie laughed. "In Phoenix? Have ye gone quite daft, woman?"

Michelle shrugged. She could not say more. She was caught in a cast-iron pickle. At the hospital, the doctor had confirmed what Michelle had struggled for months to deny. The baby was not premature. He was full term. That meant his conception had come almost a month earlier than Michelle had been telling Callie and trying desperately to believe herself. She had insisted the doctor keep this information to herself, but she needn't have bothered. She was just a staff doctor, and once she left the room, Michelle never saw her again.

***

Sitting there holding her perfect and perfectly adorable sudden brother, Callie could not understand why her mother wanted to hide him or deny him. True, she had hidden her pregnancy from everyone except Callie and Gumms, but Callie had assumed that once the baby arrived, that would change. Now she realized that her mother's plan all along had been to give him up for adoption and pretend like he had never happened. But why would she do that in this modern era, when single parents practically ruled the world, when parentless babies bounced all over the landscape.

And then it hit her.

"Oh, god." Callie's stomach twisted into a knot. "You didn't."

"Didn't what?" Her mother stared at her with a panicky grimace.

"Daddy!"

Michelle laughed, a somewhat hollow and evasive laugh, it seemed to Callie. "Good God, no!"

"Why else would you hide it?" To Callie this was an open and shut case. "You saw him last Thanksgiving."

Her mother pushed a toe into Callie's thigh, obviously annoyed. She wouldn't be annoyed if it was not true. How could she have _had sex_ with him after everything that had happened? "How could you?"

"I couldn't and didn't," she huffed. "You can change the subject."

"Then give me another name," said Callie. She raced through a list in her mind. Maybe someone from Package Express and that's why they fired her? Or that slick character from the TV show? But that would mean her mom was a—no, it had to be Edouard.

"Not now." Her mother avoided Callie's eyes, staring at the clock, the ceiling, anything but her.

"Not now? Then when?"

Michelle shook her head.

This was irrational behavior from the usually super-rational super-Mom that Michelle pretended to be. What did they call that thing that made mothers want to strangle their babies? "I think you're a little confused." Callie spoke soothingly. "You know, after-birth crazy."

Michelle stared at her daughter blankly. "Postpartum depression?"

"Whatever." Callie made sure to remain very calm. "So let me see. Your first plan was to spring the baby on the world and hope everyone loves a surprise. Now you want to send him off to oblivion and pretend it never happened? You may fool everybody, but you can't pretend it never happened. You'll know, and you'll never forgive yourself. You'll always wonder where he is, what he's doing, is he all right?" Callie almost burst into tears herself at this recitation of the child's fate.

But Michelle would not soften. "It's not always easy to know the right thing to do."

"Mom..." A light went on for Callie. There was a solution right there, staring them in the face. It was so obvious Callie almost laughed. "You're going to do the show, aren't you?"

"I _need_ that show!" Michelle threw her arms in the air and dropped them over her face. "I need the money. I need the, having something important to do. And... I don't know..."

Callie could see the pointlessness of trying to talk sense to her. How do you deal with someone so caught up in fear and anger? But she had to make her see the brilliance of her solution. She slid herself carefully up the bed, holding the baby in one arm, and reaching out to her mom with her other hand.

"Why don't you let me adopt it?" The idea was so crazy, so thrilling, but so obviously right that Callie could hardly believe it herself.

"You!"

"Why not? Being a poxy hoor is all the rage at high school these days." The idea was unfolding in her mind as quickly as she said the words. "You should see how the single moms get doted on. They show off their babies like they just baked their first apple pie. Actually, none of them could bake an apple pie, but they can have a baby. And people fawn and coo." Callie caught herself cooing at the baby in her arms. "Nothing against the babies. But girls you never heard of show up with one and all of a sudden, they're drawing a crowd. It's hideous, unless, and I never thought of it this way, unless you're the girl getting the attention."

That was it. She got fat because she was pregnant! And no one knew she was pregnant, because she was fat! The example of how that worked lay right next to her. Instead of a gormless duff, she'd be a sexy new mum! It saved her mother from all her disasters— or anyway kept her on the show— and Edouard out of the family. And most important of all, it kept this baby in Callie's arms.

Michelle lay back on her pillow, her eyes falling closed. "That is the most horrible reason I ever heard to raise a baby. I've got to call the adoption agency."

Callie shrugged the orphan higher on her chest. Her brother. "Poor little Roscoe."

"Don't."

"Well, why can't I call him a made up name, since I'll never know his real name. But I swear if you let him go, I _am_ going to find him as soon as I can."

Michelle's voice had a distant quality. "If you have to call him something, call him Boomer."

Callie looked at her mother for more signs of the post-participle manic depression. "Boomer?"

"That was the name of the EMT. Boomer Sikorskey. I was staring at the name tag during the whole..."

"Boomer." Callie mugged at him and his eyes, all black pupil, sort of wallied back at her. "You sure boomed into our lives, little Boomer Junior."

***

A bell rang for Michelle. Years ago, a football game on TV. Craig sang that song. "Boomer Soo- _ner, Boo_ -mer Sooner!" In fact, it was when she was pregnant with Callie. New Years Day, and Michelle had no idea who or what Boomer Sooners were, but Craig was so funny. Craig. The man who wasn't there after a while. The future had looked golden that Boomer Sooner day, and year by year it got darker. It looked black now, so could Boomer Junior somehow bring them light?

Michelle could feel Callie's gaze lock on to her with a rare sense of purpose and determination.

"Here's what we're going to do," said Callie. "We are _going_ to keep him, and name him Boomer, and love him." She smiled. "You're going to march in there with head held high, look them straight in the eye, and lie your head off."

"March in where? The show?" Michelle felt like a slightly delirious leaf in a whirlwind. "I can't do that. I'm not strong enough. I'd melt like whipped cream. And more importantly, it's wrong."

"Wrong? Wronger than hiding the baby? Wronger than giving him away to strangers?"

Her daughter's point stabbed Michelle like a spear. "How can I lie? How can I hide the baby? I would have to stay with the baby anyway."

"I'll take care of him. He's my baby, remember that."

"You'll be in school."

Callie smiled. "Well, Gumms or Aunt Patsy is going to have to help."

Michelle groaned. Her mother and sister? That was even more impossible.

"And you've managed to fool everyone through an entire pregnancy. _Hel-lo!_ " Callie clearly thought that was the clincher.

" _Hello?_ "

Michelle's heart sank. That was Edouard's voice, from the kitchen. A second later he rapped on the frame of the bedroom door, and his arm and shoulder appeared briefly, but he remained in the hall. "Are we decent? Can I come in?"

Getting more complicated by the second. Michelle took a calming breath. "All right."

"Hey." He stepped through the door, an uncertain smile on his round, goateed face. He wore his usual Banana Republic shirt, powder blue and yellow this time. "I tried calling. Since yesterday. You okay?"

Lord, thought Michelle. Oh lord.

"Whoa!" He looked at the baby. "Who's this?"

Michelle was about to jump off a cliff. She wanted to trust Edouard, to tell him the truth. She had to have an ally. But his face had become a strange, contorting thing, one eyebrow up in surprise, his mouth opening and closing like a bass on a dock.

But Callie looked at her with the clear and determined blue eyes of an assassin.

"I've got something to tell you," Michelle said, and Edouard almost reared back, as if he wanted to go hide under a desk.

Callie interrupted. "You see..." she raised the baby by hunching her shoulder, and turned his little face toward Edouard. "You see, I had a baby."

## CHAPTER THREE

The _Fat Chance_ homepage:

_WaRM Channel presents_......

FAT CHANCE: COUPLES

Where Dreamers Make Reality

MAIN / CONTESTANTS / ABOUT / VIDEOS / EXCLUSIVES / EPISODES / FAN CLUB

_FAT CHANCE_ is the reality show for everyone who's ever faced a challenge. Couples compete for rewards on the way to realizing their dreams, facing challenges designed for them that require sacrifice and accomplishment. As they climb the prize pyramid, the rewards increase, until one team emerges triumphant! In our first season, winners Kim and Sheryl took home $350,000 to build a bed and breakfast in Alaska. Sheryl says, "Fat Chance taught us how to win at life, and the people we met because of the show have been the best part!"

Each week _FAT CHANCE_ brings viewers helpful tips and the latest strategies for success. One week we'll learn how easy it is to cook low-fat, and make simple home repairs, or we'll enter the fascinating world of mental and spiritual enhancement and present foolproof job-search strategies. You'll find any topic you see on a morning talk show, a home and garden channel, or a fitness challenge on _FAT CHANCE_ , but here the information comes with a fun, competitive twist. Only if the teams meet their goals do they get to take part in the events and win prize money and gifts!

***

Jock Sundlin looked over the group. The contestants sat squeezed onto the couches and chairs of Edouard's great room, the crew slouching behind them. A large, minimally furnished living-family-dining-kitchen space with a high ceiling, the great room had most of the qualities of a studio set, which made it a _great_ room because the new budget included nothing for studio space. Warm Channel had agreed to resume production, but on a budget of three caraway seeds and some pocket lint.

The sixteen contestants were happy. They had a chance again to win some money. The eight or so members of the film crew also appeared quite content. They'd had a sweet job drop in their collective Lapland. It was like a bonus round for everyone but Jock. For him, breaking even wasn't good enough. He had to have a hit to survive in television, or he'd be producing cooking shows in, like, Phoenix.

But now he had to bury his apprehension, because it was show time.

"So, here we are all again. In beautiful, _warm_ Phoenix." Jock laughed. "This is probably the only time we'll all be together when _you_ guys," he held his hand high to indicate the crew, "won't be filming _you_ guys." He lowered his hand and smiled at the contestants.

Everyone chuckled. Oh, he was a witty fellow! The key to success for this show would be to establish and maintain a _vibe_. That was Jock's primary task, and something he had tried but failed to do in the first season of _Fat Chance_.

"When they cancelled us in May, all of you cast members had already been selected, so we're not totally starting from scratch." He turned to a petite, handsome, dark-haired woman who stood at his side, clutching a daytimer like it was trying to escape. "You all remember Donna."

Donna gave them her brilliant smile and a double wave. "Yeah, we figured since most of you live here, why not do the show here? Except Mark and Paula from Denver. And..."

She paused. A sleepy-eyed man sitting on the loveseat shot his hand up.

"Billy and Lucinda," said Donna. "From San Antone."

"While we're here, we can look for a job." Billy chuckled.

"Boy did you get bad advice," someone said. A ripple of laughter followed.

Jock felt no need to add that he'd chosen the contestants because the cable execs had cancelled the nationwide audition tour after three stops: San Antonio, Denver, and Phoenix.

"We'll be doing some fun things later on to help everyone get acquainted," said Donna. "You know, party games."

"Pin the tail on the honky?" said Nashon, the only black contestant.

Surprisingly warm laughter from the honkies. Jock nodded. Maybe this group wouldn't be so bad. They seemed to have some kind of chemistry. Reality television was kind of like a strip poker game. You needed a real trust that everybody was going for it, and no one would be laughed at more than the others would.

"So what exactly happened? Why did you get cancelled" asked Edouard, the don of the great room. He and his dumpy girlfriend Michelle were doing a weight-loss challenge. That would be good for them. Improve their health and appearance. And you almost had to have a couple of appetite warriors on any reality show. But these two did not have a lot of personality or drama.

"What happened?" Jock paused. This was his chance to show the cast and crew that he was really one of them, that they were a team—the creative, fun people just trying to make a good show. He wasn't one of _them_ , the bean counters, the shallow, me-too Hollywood types. "As you know, _they_ cancelled us in May, because _they_ didn't like our ratings. Just a..." he held his thumb and forefinger up, indicating a half-inch. "Just a bit short of what they wanted. Then they put on this asinine Hot Wives of Cocoa Beach, or Hot Cocoa Puffs on the Loose, or something. And it bombed."

Donna laughed. A few others tittered uncertainly.

Jock continued. "She can laugh because she and I are practically the entire audience for the Cocoa Puffs. We watched, we hated, but we never gave up on _this_ show. So now they come back to us, having been torched but not humbled. And they say, let bygones be bygones. We have a slot starting in February. Only what, five months from now? That's the nutshell version."

"So we told them," Donna segued like the pitch-meeting pro that she was, "We love this group, we'll go with them. And we're going to get creative. We like what the show did last year, but _that_ got cancelled. It can be better."

The contestants smiled and murmured. Some had been fans of the first season. Others simply showed up because they saw Jock on a local morning show inviting people to try out.

"Absolutely." Jock felt no need to mention the minuscule budget to either cast or crew. Definition of miniscule: besides producer Jock and associate Donna, there were only three people on salary. Jock and Donna would have to double as director, writer, editor, and anything else they needed. Hence the local film crew of unknown quality. Hence no budget for transportation, catering, or schlepping. And all out-of-towners stayed at Comfort Suites behind the mall in Scottsdale, off-season rate until November.

So keeping to the budget was a given. Finding creative solutions to problems was a must. But most important, for this show to have any future, it needed to create that vibe, that buzz, which was going to be a challenge because Jock and Donna had not had a chance to select from a large pool of contestants.

Jock would have to push this group to find the nuggets of weirdness and drama he needed. The drama _he_ felt. This might be his last chance, and so far, the gay couple wasn't gay enough, the trying-to-heal-their-marriage couple, Mark and Paula, had too much passive and not nearly enough aggressive. The OCD couple, Nashon and Linda—he was actually depressed, not compulsive—might explode at any time. Or they might just sit there and silently obsess. And those were his potential stars. The other five couples were just a blob. White, fleshy, zipsquatches.

***

Callie did not go to school that Monday. It felt weird, but she had insisted it was part of the deal. Michelle had gone to the first day of _Fat Chance_. She was going to decide that night if she wanted to, A: continue with the show, B: allow Callie's "adoption" of baby Booms, and C: how public she was willing to be about all of it. She made it clear she would be the decider, and Callie, of course, agreed to that and had sworn Zam to radio silence. Edouard was a different case. He didn't really know what was going on, and thought they were keeping Callie's pregnancy and baby secret to save her reputation. But he had to cooperate if he wanted to have any chance of continuing on the show.

Callie was on her third exercise video of the day—kick boxing—when Zam came by at 3:30. She was exhausted and sore from all the exercise, sweating on top of old sweat, wearing a huge tee shirt, shorts, and a scrunchie. She never tried to impress Zam with her looks. Wouldn't work anyway.

"So you're not going at all this week?" Zam flopped down on the sofa.

Callie shook her head, counting under her breath with the super happy blonde on the video. At this point she was barely keeping up with the motions, but she could still count. "I have to take care of Booms while my mom does the show. Well, I'm helping my Gumms. She's going to drop him off at four." She gasped for breath. "And I have to lose weight."

Zam brushed his dark, straight hair out of his face. "Why do you have to lose—"

"Because I'm getting over being pregnant, moronico! If I don't lose weight, I was just fat, not preggers. We went over this last night. Who did you tell?"

"No one," he grumbled, sliding even farther down on the couch. "And I'm not just saying that because you're trying to hit me in the nose."

"I am not! If I... wanted to threaten..." she erased the rest of the sentence with wagging hands, and continued punching at the TV. If Michelle gave her a go, Callie was ready to spring into action. Zam would begin spreading the rumor of her pregnancy-slash-motherhood tomorrow.

"Do you really think you can pull this off?"

"We have to." Callie puffed. "They say the truth hurts, _eight_ , and in this case it would be true. _Nine!_ It'd hurt me, my mom, and Baby Boomer."

"So." Zam stroked his wispy chin hair. "Don't know much about biology, but who is the lucky dad of your baby?"

" _Twelve!_ " She stood up straight, breathing hard. "No one knows. It's a mystery."

"Come on! If I'm going to be your Minister of Misinformation, I need to know some of what I'm lying about. Okay. So you won't say who, then _when_ did it happen, that you lost your virgin... state?" "Who says I was a virgin?"

Zam shot her an offended look. "I'm on your side, remember? I will stay on your side, but don't abuse me."

Callie focused on the screen, wondering again why super happy fit perky Kassie wore those fingerless gloves. She was only punching _air_. "It was last Christmas, at the Fiesta Bowl band festival. He was a drummer with amazing black eyes. He was from Sandusky, Ohio, or Saginaw, Michigan."

"That's a weird story. Who came up with that?"

"My mom." Callie remembered it not as either a fiesta or a festival, but as a lot of extra practice, running around to get to events, and then sitting around. And someone had stolen her iPod. "There was a band there from Michigan, or Indiana. I forget. It had to be something around that time."

"You guys are good, the band." Zam straightened up.

"Well when they tell you to play the fight song, you play the blutty fight song."

"You know, alternatively, I could... well..."

"You could what?" Callie looked at him over her shoulder.

"Well, if you want someone, a real live..." He batted his eyelashes at her. "To, you know, take the rap. I could be the dumdum daddy."

"Not highly blutty likely!" Callie laughed. Oh, had she seen this coming! She tried to draw her leg up to shoot a kick in his direction, but didn't have the strength. "Just do your job. When I walk in there a week late, _everyone_ better know why. By then," she puffed, "this will start paying off. Ten pounds off."

"You're going to lose ten pounds in a week?"

"No, ten pounds a week for three weeks."

Zam rolled his eyes.

"Wanker." Callie mopped her face and neck with a hand towel. "I'm going to bring Boomer to the soccer game on October fifteenth. That'll be his debut. Low key. But there'll be some people there. And I'll be _lookin' good_."

"Is Edouard really the dad? You know, in the other dimension where your mom had the baby?"

"He has to be." Callie lowered herself gingerly to the floor, legs weak. "They met a year ago. She sure hasn't seen anyone else."

"He ever sleep here?"

"Are you trying to induce vomitage? No!"

Zam studied her. "She ever stay there?"

"No. They were only really together for like two months. Now they're more just friends. He's too weird."

Callie grabbed the remote and killed the video. She collapsed on the carpet catching her breath. Zam leaned back on the couch, staring into space.

"Maybe it's the sailor," he said.

"That was a different lie." Callie extended her hands to him. "She was going to tell the adoption agency."

Zam stood and pulled her up. "Or is it? Who is this mysterious sailor?"

"I was scared to death it was my dad." She took a long swig of water. "Don't you want them to get back together?"

"God, no!" Callie blurted. "They're like poison and... poison."

Zam moaned, "Sayyyy-lorrrr. _Who_ is a sailor? _What_ is a sailor? An occupation, but also maybe a place, a description, an acronym. Maybe it's a code name."

"Holy shiitake, Mushroom Boy! Let it lay!" Callie slapped at him weakly with her towel. Wondering about the father didn't do anyone any good. "It doesn't matter who the father is. He's gone and he's not coming back. What's important is that he have a mother—a real mother. Me."

***

Six twenty-five a week. As long as Michelle fully participated in the show, she collected $125 a day. Jock called it a per diem. Michelle preferred to think of it as a per week-em. If she was going to do this, it was for the money, and she wouldn't miss any days if she could help it.. Jock assured them that they were all going to be active pretty much all day, every day, as they had a very tight schedule and he needed miles of video on each participant. In fact, after the real get-acquainted meeting, they filmed a second get-acquainted meeting that covered the same ground. Then they did individual mini-interviews of each couple. After lunch, they went to the Comfort Suites to shoot the party games in a big meeting room.

"And," Edouard gave her his insider take during a break in the action. "Because these are nonunion film crews, he can run them fourteen hours a day. That's why we're filming in Phoenix. Unions are nothing here."

Why Edouard thought himself an insider was another question. He was on the human resources staff of Cox Cable, therefore part of the television industry, but, come on. Anyway, Michelle could not get involved in the politics or business of it. Someone had chosen to do the show in Phoenix, for some reason, and that was a lucky break for Edouard and herself. That was as far as she needed to see.

The day concluded with the passing out of a large stack of papers to each participant. The papers covered every aspect of their connection to _Fat Chance_ and a long list of associated parties and entities. What they could do, what they could say, who they could tell, all the ways Michelle, like the others, had no control of her portrayal on the show, or any career that might result from the show. _Fat Chance_ was not responsible if she fell down, became ill, or contracted a sexually transmitted disease. That gave her a chuckle.

Donna flipped through the pages much faster than Michelle could follow. "Health history... waiver... representation rights... and what we call the morality clause." Donna laughed. "Yes, we the Hollywood heathen, are going to dictate morality to you fine upstanding citizens. And by the way, we're all citizens, right?"

"Oh, yess, senyora," said James, part of a couple trying to climb out of foreclosure and debt caused by the real-estate crash. "Here in Arizona, we haff to be, or the sheriff, he come and..." Laughter erupted around him.

"Good! Okay! Anyway, here is where you swear that you're not professional actors, not ex-porn stars, and that everything you tell us about yourselves is truthful and accurate."

Michelle felt the tension creep up her scalp.

"We don't do background checks. Frankly, we can't afford it. We have a much simpler system. If we catch you lying to us, or playing us in any way, or breaking the confidentiality or proprietary rules, you get shit-canned. And probably sued."

Michelle was sure those paragraphs contained traps and costs she couldn't find with a microscope. Even with the best intent you could be tripped up. Of that she had no doubt, having recently wandered the lost canyons of legal jargon in a divorce. But if you knew you were lying to them, that had to be much worse. That had to be Jaws chomping off the back of your cabin cruiser.

"Don't worry!" Donna enthused. "You can take all this stuff home and read it. Be sure you do, because it obligates you in many ways." She dropped her bundle of papers on the table in front of her. They landed with a thud.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a wrap! See all of you in Group One tomorrow at 8 a.m. at the Scottsdale Culinary School for the cooking segment!"

## CHAPTER FOUR

Michelle sank into the couch, wishing she could crawl into a hole, preferably a deep, warm, soft hole where doubt, and weariness, and the voices and questions and needs of others could not reach her. But Edouard had bought them take out to celebrate the end of the first exhausting day, not something she could really turn down after the day she'd had. The hours of interviews, filming, and those asinine team-building games, all designed to rev up the familiarity of the contestants and to generate reactions, facial expressions, odd comments, inappropriate emotions for the cameras.

And then that scary meeting at the end of the day, where they were asking her to sign her life away. Despite starting the day extra tired and stressed—Michelle couldn't imagine that any of the other contestants had had a baby over the weekend—she kept her guard up the whole time, constantly monitoring reactions—every look, every word—wondering if they could see her secrets, or somehow knew. Beset on every side, at every moment, she felt like a tribal woman who goes into the bushes to have a baby and then comes back and skins a buffalo. Oh, and the Apaches attack at dawn. So be ready for that.

She sat with Callie and Edouard, eating the Yoshi's takeout and watching _Night_ on Animal Planet. The lamp at the end of the couch glowed warmly, the last of the twilight casting a soft, gray light from the big window. She relaxed a little.

"After a day on the set," Edouard chuckled, "Some nonhuman reality TV hits the spot."

He had been very helpful to her today. He'd kept his mouth shut about Callie and the baby, fetched things, been very tender. He thought she was stressed out about Callie, and that's why she looked so haggard.

Michelle said, "I wonder how many takes it took to make that cobra presentable."

"Fer-de-lance." Edouard spoke around a mouthful of, teriyaki, it looked like.

"Fergie Lance?" Callie laughed.

"It's the deadliest poisonous snake. South America." Edouard scissored his chopsticks. Just then, the narrator informed them that the fer-de-lance had killed more South Americans than any other snake. Edouard shrugged.

"Very good!" said Callie.

"Oh, he knows his animal planet." Michelle nibbled on her broccoli beef, which seemed gristly and flavorless.

She knew that both Edoo and Callie were waiting for her decision, or decisions, since there were two different versions. To Edouard she had to say yes or no to being on the show, even though her daughter just had a baby. To Callie, she had to say yes or no to the show, and to keeping the baby, and to Callie being the mother. Of course, in a way she had already chosen the rose-petaled road to perdition. She had let Callie lie to Edouard, and had not contradicted her. And she still had not called the adoption agency.

On Sunday, there had been a show on television about two gay men who adopted twelve children. Clearly these men were saints, taking kids out of bad homes and off the streets. The host of the show, a woman known as one of the leading lights of rational feminine humanism and good TV ratings, said so quite plainly. They were warm, generous saints. Michelle could only watch for a few moments, quickly succumbing to a mysterious and virulent anger. Two _men?_ What did they know? What did anyone know? A completely irrational fear overcame Michelle; a fear that her baby could end up in such a house, with two fathers and no mother.

All weekend she'd pondered the question to the point of sleeplessness. Her decision must be the right one, not for her or for Callie but for the baby.

Thus the need for that hole in the couch.

The baby snickered in the bedroom. Michelle went to check on him.

***

Callie became aware of Edouard staring at her.

"You're not eating much," he said.

"I have to lose weight." She focused on the TV screen. Callie had never been comfortable with this big mongoose. She was overjoyed that he was not becoming her stepfather. So maybe now she could be nicer to him.

"I didn't even know you were pregnant."

"Really?" She challenged him. "Because I was so fat?"

"No!" Edouard shook his head, and his cheeks waggled. "I just meant, I guess I haven't paid enough attention to you." He squirmed a little, and gave her a phony smile. It was so obvious that he used teeth whitener, and not the expensive kind.

"I didn't make a big deal of it."

"You mean you were hiding it?" He blushed, his moment as Lord of South American Snakes now all but forgotten.

Callie decided to give him a break. "You were all excited about your show and stuff."

"That's probably true. I kind of get wrapped up in my own thing. But you look wonderful now, the bloom of motherhood on you. Beautiful."

Callie studied him for traces of sarcasm, and quickly decided he was just a little slow, not mean.

"So how are you feeling?" Edouard was clearly trying to make up for lost time here, though Callie couldn't imagine why.

"I've got sore muscles from working out. But I'm fine," she said. "It's my mom who's all PPD."

"PPD?"

Callie realized she had made a mistake. _She_ was the one supposedly post-partum, and recovering from childbirth. But she had been lulled into a comfort zone by the soothing voice of the Animal Planet narrator. She needed a brilliant diversion now. "Yeah, you know. Pooped. From all the stress of me having... you know. The baby.

A shadow of suspicion crossed Edouard's face. "Is that what you said?"

Callie shrugged, giving away nothing "Yeah, why?"

"Oh, nothing. I just... Yeah, she's pretty stressed."

***

Michelle carried the baby into the living room. Unlike newer, larger houses, such as Edouard's, with its cavernous great room, Michelle's condo had the traditional floor plan. The family room contained the television and was larger. The living room contained the nice furniture and they didn't use it much. She turned on the green desk lamp on the desk they never used as a desk, and eased down onto the love seat. This house, the first she'd ever owned by herself, was the result of the need to divide their assets. Hers and Craig's old home, which she loved, couldn't be cleaved in two, and Michelle sure didn't have enough money of her own to buy it.

Boomsie gazed into the soft light from the lamp, his huge dark eyes alive to everything. From the TV in the other room came the high-pitched squeal of a discount furniture dealer, and the baby seemed to look at her for an explanation. "Yes little one," she murmured. "They call him Mad Man Mordecai, and nobody beats his prices."

Her old home, her old life. She'd dated Craig and slept with him in mad, passionate nights through college, both of them majoring in history, that's how mad they were. They married when he was in law school, and she worked part-time and went to school part-time. The plan was that once he graduated, she would go back to school. She had secret dreams of being a writer. But babies change plans, and baby Callie had changed that one.

Michelle knew now that Callie had been right. Baby Boomer had to stay with her, with them, because a child only has one real mother, no matter how many social workers say otherwise. He was hers and she was his. Forever. A little reality TV charade would not change that. At home, she would have a son, and Callie would have a brother. Out in the rest of the world, things would be more complicated.

It wasn't that much different from Michelle's childhood. Her mother, Kate, now mostly known as Gumms, had more or less turned the raising of her last two kids, numbers six and seven, over to Michelle and her sister Patsy.

An old song popped into Michelle's head, and she sang to her baby in a husky whisper. "Cain't ever turn you loose... If I do I'm gonna hmm hmm hmm." She never could remember those lyrics. On the arm of the couch next to her lay the day's unopened mail. While Otis Redding played the rest of the song in her head, Michelle inserting the line and a half of lyric she knew when it came up, she slit open the bill from City of Phoenix Emergency Services. One thousand, nine hundred and sixty dollars they wanted, for two hours of their time and a ride in the ambulance.

There was also an envelope from a doctor she had never heard of. Nine hundred for lab work. Lab work? When did that happen? She had understood that every person who walked into the room during her hospital stay was now going to send her a bill. But was every question she had answered or thing she had asked for or didn't refuse now going to cost her five hundred dollars? Like the Kleenex she took to blow her nose and dry her eyes. Those weren't facial tissues folded in there. They were hundred dollar bills.

Michelle had no income besides Callie's child support. She had worked on the census from May to July, but that money was nearly gone. And of course, she had no health insurance, because the express company where she'd worked until last December had laid her off, specifically, she was sure, so they wouldn't have to put her on their health plan. And Obama-care, whatever that was, apparently hadn't kicked in. There was no letter from the government in the stack of mail saying don't worry your little head about medical expenses.

Knowing Booms would be hungry soon, Michelle carried him into the kitchen, where she retrieved a bottle of formula from the refrigerator, and set it in a pan of water on the stove to warm. All one-handed, of course. Boomer already fit inside her arm like a newly developed muscle. She sat at the kitchen table and rocked him gently.

When Edouard came in with the cups and trays, he set Michelle's foam bowl, still half-full of food, on the table in front of her. "Callie seems strong for someone who just had a baby."

"Yeah. Well, she's young." Michelle could feel him studying her.

"Tough day today."

Just talking about it doubled Michelle's weariness. "I was exhausted. Baby up all night."

"Crying?"

Michelle shrugged. "Just hungry. Can you hand me that bottle?"

Edouard dried the bottle with a paper towel and handed it to her. Michelle gave Boomer the nipple, and he sucked eagerly.

Edouard leaned against the counter. "So who is the father? Zam?"

"Zam? No." The absurdity of that idea gave Michelle a little hiccup of hilarity. The nursing baby relaxed her, even if he was only gumming a bottle, not her tight breasts. She knew that any nursing would only stimulate more milk production. So she would just have to endure the tender breasts for a while. Michelle felt no guilt about not breastfeeding him. Somewhere in the world people were debating hotly over breast versus bottle, but there would be no debate in this house. And speaking of bottles, there was something that had been calling to her all summer. She looked at Edouard. "I would love a glass of wine."

Edouard found a dusty bottle in Michelle's neglected and under-populated wine rack, and pulled down two glasses. Michelle felt a pang of sadness. He was a nice guy, at heart, at times. She had gone nine months—okay, six and a half after the denial ended—believing she carried Edouard's baby. It so much had to be his baby that Michelle had blocked out any other possibility. During that time she had thought a lot about him, what kind of man he was, what he would give to his child. Even just a few hours before her labor started she had entertained thoughts that they could make it together. But Boomer had changed something. Boomer had changed everything.

"So." Edouard sat down at the table, and clinked his glass on hers. "Not Zam."

"No." Trying to look casual, Michelle straightened up a little, and rolled her shoulders, to ease the pressure on her breasts. She'd been doing that all day. They were hard as grapefruits, and that surreptitious movement gave her a few minutes of relief.

She saw that he wasn't going to let the father question go. So let the games begin in earnest. "You remember our weekend in Park City?"

"Sure." He flushed, and the goatee that framed his fleshy chin quivered a little. They had been in love that night. They had made love that night. But for purposes of this story, all that mattered was that they were out of town. "She stayed with Craig that weekend. He was supposed to be watching her." One benefit of this story was that it made her ex-hub look like an irresponsible parent. The story wasn't true, but it still gave her satisfaction.

Realization brightened his eyes. "Something happened that weekend?"

Michelle nodded.

"With who?"

"A boy her own age. A kid from one of the bands from out of town. Indiana or someplace. Someone we don't know. I really don't want to talk about it"

Edouard nodded, looking so solemn. If he only knew how much worse it was than what she had told him. Yet telling him this outrageous lie made her almost feel giddy, and that seemed very odd–she should feel guilty and fearful.

"So." Edouard sipped his wine. "How about this show?"

Michelle nodded. "I think I can do it."

Edouard did a poor job of suppressing his joy. "Good. I think it will be good for you. And for us."

"That's the thing." She made sure to look him in the eye. "There is no more us. I just don't think I want to resume, whatever. We're friends, that's all."

"But we were friends before."

"No, we were a couple. Sweethearts, sweetheart."

"But what about the show?"

"I'll be your girlfriend for the show. I can pull that off. But don't overplay it."

Edouard sighed mournfully. "Alright. I guess I haven't been very... strong for you lately."

Michelle did not feel like responding to his neediness. "No, you haven't."

"Well. I can be your friend. We can be friends. Good friends. And partners." He seemed to be taking their breakup rather well. "You know, they'll find out about Callie and the baby. In fact they will love the baby."

"There's no reason she has to be in this. She or the baby." Michelle rolled her shoulders for a few more minutes of blessed breast relief. She thought she might take an Advil now. Instead she had another sip of wine. "I just want to keep the focus on us."

"You don't have to be embarrassed about it."

Alarm bells. "About what?"

"That your daughter was doing things she shouldn't have. Babies having babies, y'know, whatever. It happens all the time."

Michelle wanted to scream, _Not in this house, Buster!_ But she understood this was the price she would pay, over and over, the rumor, the questioning of Callie's morals, and of her parenting. In an even tone of voice, she said, "I'm not embarrassed about my daughter. My daughter is fine and good. You don't know anything about her."

"Okay, don't get defensive." His slack face wobbled uncertainly.

"Then don't get offensive," Michelle countered. But he looked so hurt, Michelle almost laughed. That giddy feeling again. She felt like she had discovered a whole new meaning to the term _guilty pleasure_. Up to now, a guilty pleasure for her had been eating half a birthday cake by herself. This lying and deception felt much more guilty and pleasurable.

"Okay, then. Tomorrow. Do you want a ride?"

"Sure."

Edouard rose, his bulk like an extra refrigerator in the room. He kissed the top of her head. "We'll make this work."

"I'm sure of it."

Then he was gone, taking all the tension of the day with him.

Michelle noticed that Booms was no longer feeding. She dabbed with a napkin at the milk that had dribbled down his chin. She reached under her blouse and unhooked her bra, still looking for relief from the tightness of her breasts and the tenderness of her nipples. The tenderness of her nipples. Another Otis Redding song, wasn't it? Or Dolly Parton? With a wig, a corset, and a tray of makeup she could pass for Dolly about now.

She thought she was dropping the baby, and then realized Callie was taking him.

"You two are too much, sitting here snoozing together."

"Oh boy." Michelle released Booms, and Callie pulled him to her. Michelle reached over and stroked her hair. "Thanks. You'll make a good mommy."

"I'm ready now."

"Yeah, but let's leave the training wheels on."

"So we're doing it?"

"If it comes up at the show, I'll tell them my daughter had a baby. You can tell your friends."

"What made you decide?

"Today I realized, the people on the show have been telling me I need to stand up, not be a doormat. They told me that in April. It's a TV problem for them. They're trying to mold me into someone who would be interesting to watch. Good luck with that." Michelle stood up and arched her back, trying to loosen the stress and soreness. She also had a tender tummy, and the insides of her thighs, and for some reason her calves. "God. I'm a wreck."

Callie smiled at her.

"So this crazy idea of yours may not be crazy," said Michelle. "They said I needed to stand up and fight back against my ex-husband, or the company that fired me rather than put me on their crappy health plan. Donna said the same thing to me again today, and it was like a fire alarm went on." Michelle considered for a minute. Does a fire alarm go _on_ or _off?_ "She said, don't be a pushover. This is a competition, and someone who always does what they're told, well, they don't last long. She said I seemed like a person who had always done the right thing, and how was that working out for me?"

Michelle's confidence in her decision grew as she heard herself explain it. "It made me mad. Who is she to say that to me? They want me to fight back, to take on the system. So like you said, I'm going to walk in there and lie to them on national TV. Well, cable. Well, tape that could end up on cable. And let them prove me wrong."

Callie breathed a nearly silent "Yesssssss."

"No more pattycake and hopefulness."

"Yeah," said Callie. "Prison rules. You know, if me and the baby get on the show, that would be..."

"No." Michelle knew that was a line she would not cross. "You're off limits, and so is he. The show might drag you in somehow, but I'm going to fight it. It's my way or the goodbye way. Even if it means our whole life is going to be a lie, from morning to night."

"Actually, this feels true." She snuggled Boomer. "Because it's getting us what we want."

"That sounds sick and twisted, but I'm not sure I can tell sick from twisted anymore."

"Or whatever." Callie giggled. "So we might as well just go with what works."

"We might as well."

***

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***

There, thought Zam. That ought to satisfy the little publicity vampire. Let her have her little sniglet of fame. Courtesy of the only one who knows the truth, the whole truth.

The whole truth.

## II. THE SHOW

## CHAPTER FIVE

"Here we go." Jock nudged the mouse, and the Macbook on the coffee table lit up. He and Donna were back at his room at the Comfort Suites, looking at the second day's tape, the cooking segment filmed at a local school of the culinary arts. On the screen, Michelle looked for something in the drawer of the kitchen island. The group was making an egg white asparagus omelet, and some kind of skillet beef dish. This was the first time Jock had paid much attention to Michelle and Edouard since early in the selection process, months ago. Michelle was a lot more frazzled and feisty than he remembered.

Michelle opens the drawer so hard that the utensils inside slide noisily.

She slams the drawer shut, making more noise, then moves to her left and opens the top drawer there. She peers into the drawer, clearly frustrated. "Sheesh! Where's the..."

_Edouard turns toward her, but not expecting the drawer open, he catches it right in the crotch, rattling the drawer_.

Jock chuckled. "Uff."

"Oh, my!" Donna chuckled. She was leaning on the back of the couch behind him, stretching or something. They were well into their second hour of running rough footage, after a full day of taping segments. "Again."

Jock replayed the scene.

"He fully engaged it." Donna said. "I never saw that."

"Well, neither one of them react. At all."

_Gazing at the items in the drawer, Michelle barely gives Edouard a glance. As he backs up and turns away, she slides the drawer closed and pulls open the one below it_.

Jock saw something there. But what did he see? They had seemed awkward and unsettled during the day, but so did most of the others. Michelle looked pale on the video, with dark circles under her eyes, but she projected a strange kind of adrenalin energy.

He sipped the cloying remains of his iced rumba latte, which unfortunately contained no rum. "I mean, he's taking one in the cohonies and nothing, not a blink. And she's even more oblivious. What's got those two? The camera?"

"Maybe. I remember him as Mister Fatuous, and she's the cupcake. The straight man. That was months ago, though. Something's changed."

Jock leaned back and stretched. "You want to keep going?"

"You're the boss." She walked around the couch and grabbed her water bottle from the coffee table. "What've we got left?"

"Oh, everything. We won't get it all done tonight."

"It's nearly ten."

"Yeah. That's enough."

"Okay." She slipped her sandals on, leaning on the kitchenette counter. She was an attractive, ripe, smart woman. Right where the concept of sexy was for him now. And he was single, but she had just remarried, and he didn't want to screw up her life. That's assuming she would even have him. And he needed a hit show more than he needed sex or love. Jock was not a starry-eyed simpleton who believed you could have it all. Life and the world were zero-sum—a gain here meant a drop over there.

But there she stood, firmly and ripely. He shook it off. "Yeah. We need to save our energy."

"It's good to be back on this." She sat on the couch again, and picked up her organizer. She flipped through a few pages, looking at the rest of the week.

Jock felt a sudden flush of despair. "Jezuss, I hope this is going to be worth it."

She gave him that big, warm, nursey smile of hers. "It's got to be."

"I mean, last year we had the network creatives on our ass, fuckin' up the show. Bunch of oxymorons if there ever were such."

"They're sure not around now."

"No, thank God for small favors."

Donna closed her leather notebook. "So we can really do whatever we want."

"Yeah." Jock ran his fingers over his hair, which released little fizzes of tension all over his head. "So what do we want to do? How much should we change? How far away from the original concept?"

Donna's confident smile didn't flicker for even an instant. "I'm sure you'll come up with the right mix. You've got the touch."

"Jezuss, I hope so." But there was the more basic problem. "Except we've got no money to do anything. It's the attack of the enraged bean counters. That Fletcher Moeller is reviewing everything. Today he e-mailed me two or three times about the rental on the digital mixer, which wouldn't pay for an Eva Longoria wardrobe change."

Donna rubbed his shoulder lightly, as if brushing off ashes. "I believe in you. That's why I signed up for this cruise." She gave him that healing smile, and set her planner back on the coffee table. "Tell you what." She grabbed the mouse. The screen lit up again. "Let's at least finish Edouard and Michelle."

Jock sighed. "Go."

Michelle is staring intently at the cook, who is braising beef in a pan.

" _Braising," says the cook. "You can't beat it for coaxing tenderness out of—"_

" _Braising is the best!" Michelle nudges Ed, who nods dully_.

Jock laughed. He thought back to previous encounters with Michelle, but nothing about her seemed familiar. "She's practically jamming her face down the lens."

Donna stopped the clip and paged back through the scenes. "I sure don't remember her like that."

"No. Truthfully, I barely remember her at all."

"And, she's gained weight." Donna sat back on the couch. "I guess when we cancelled, she pigged out."

"No motivation." Jock stared at the screen, Michelle frozen there in a spacious cap sleeve tee and tan cargo capris.

"And she looks completely drained."

"Boyfriend scared shiftless."

They played the goring of Edouard again, and ran it a little past.

Edouard reacts as he turns away. A sharp breath, a momentary glazing of the eyes.

_In the corner of the shot, Michelle, still focused on her mission, buzzes emphatically. "Where's the hmm-hmm hot pads?_ "

"Is she on drugs?" said Donna. "Or off her meds?"

"I don't know." Jock bumped her knee with his fist. "But whatever it is, I like it."

***

Fletcher Moeller glared at the spreadsheet. _Fat Chance_ had only five salaried positions and some temp contracts in its budget. But you had to keep an eye on Joachin Sundlin Productionz. Jock had a reputation for billing for equipment that he never rented, and hours that no one had worked. His numbers always looked right, but you could never be quite sure where the money really went.

The _Fat Chance_ production office was no office at all, but a meeting room with two brown tables and two black chairs in the back corner of the _Jeopardy_ wing at Sony's Culver City Studio. Every day the _Jeopardy_ fans skipped down the little street between sound stages dreaming that they, too, would win thousands by being brilliant. Anytime Moeller had to come here and wend his way through them, his Coupa Cafe macchiato already approaching room temp, he would mutter, "There is no brilliance in _television!_ "

He was just resentful that he had to come here at all. _Fat Chance_ had no office employees, so if Moeller wanted to find something or know something, he drove to Culver City and fought through the _Jeopardy_ crowd to poke around in stacks of mail and boxes of unorganized files.

Or maybe his annoyance came from the show they had assigned him to manage. Some startups had enough energy to blow the roof off the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Not this one. As a restart, it was the entertainment equivalent of duct tape on a hose—it had to work for a while, and if it lasted a month it would be a miracle.

Still, Moeller much preferred being on the business side, not creative, even if it did require him to trudge around to drab rooms like this and paw through countless pointless manila folders. Essentially he was an orderly at a state hospital, cleaning up after the maniacs and trying to keep them from hurting themselves. But he had a healthy salary that he would receive indefinitely, regardless of ratings, artistic merit, or who was pulled over late at night for driving erratically.

Moeller heard noises in the hall and looked up to see a trio of rude-looking thugs in green shirts gathered in the doorway.

"We're here to move you, buddy." The swarthy leader said.

"Move me?"

"Yeah, over to the annex."

Moeller ran a finger over the chafed area on his throat. It had been itching all morning. "Oh no you can't. You mean the building on Motor Ave? "

The moving man smiled. "That's the one. Facilities wants this room back for Merv Griffin."

"Well, shit. How big is Merv Griffin?"

The homeboys laughed, apparently enjoying Moeller's discomfort, or hearing some unintended witticism or pun. But Moeller had to make a stand. "You can't touch anything until I find out who Terri Major is."

Now _they_ were uncomfortable. They liked inappropriate wit? They liked throwing curveballs at a production manager? He'd give them some of the same.

"Who...what?"

"Yeah, Terri Major. She's listed here as a production assistant. But I don't remember seeing her, hiring her. Nothing. They only have a handful of people—why can't I remember her?"

The one with the glistening scalp said, "Maybe it's a dude, dude. Maybe that's why you can't remember her."

"No, it's Terri with an 'i.' Wouldn't that be a girl's name?"

"Hey!" He laughed. "Don't ask me. I got a sister named Kennedy."

"I'm serious." Moeller whacked the file on the table beside him. "I've got payroll s'posed to go out Friday, for people that were hired a week ago, and all the paperwork is still in HR or some god-damn place. And the whole crew is in Phoenix, and Jock never answers his e-mail."

Suddenly the jovial boys became serious. These were real problems he was talking about. Big Swarthy looked concerned. "You mean like the W-2s and shit?"

"That would be one way."

The man pulled a cell phone out of the cavernous pocket of his huge green pants. "Lemme..." He punched some numbers. "I know this woman in... Charlotte? This is Mario. Hey. There's a guy here needs to find papers on some new hired. No, they're legal. Like W-2s and..." He listened to a buzzing question and replied, " _Fat Chance_." A smile lit his dark face. "I think she can help. Hang on..."

Moeller heard more buzzing and felt sudden gratitude for the little people of the world, no matter they were twice his size. Maybe they just saved him a trip to Phoenix.

***

On the Saturday morning before she was to return to school Callie sat with Fiona at the Starbuck's inside Target. Her first venture outside the cocoon of the family, not counting Zam. Her first effort at lying to people in person.

Fiona was pretty much Callie's total opposite. Small and wiry, she had dark hair and dark eyes, to which she added a lot of black shadow and mascara. She had a wicked sense of humor but she was Callie's best girlfriend, the person she most relied on, besides Zam, but trusted even more. Callie regretted that she had to lie to Fiona, who had become an instant friend in freshman English, where they worked together on a presentation about _The Pearl_ , a story about how a great hope ended in major, major problems. Since Zam had been the accidental witness to the birth, he knew the truth. But Callie felt like she could control him. No one else could know, so it was a fine line she had to walk with Fiona.

Fiona made it harder by being excited. "I can't believe you tried to hide from me that you were preggers. Course, I could tell..."

"Don't say that." Bollocks, this was uncomfortable!

"Oh, don't be so self-conscious. It happens to enough girls."

"Don't say that, either." Callie had to find a way to talk about the true bits, not the lies.

"Well, I didn't know why you were hiding out all summer, but I knew there was a reason." Fiona smiled. Shoppers milled around in the sportswear department behind the Starbucks-slash-snack bar where they sat. A huge poster of a pastel-addicted blonde hung right behind Fiona in Callie's line of sight.

"I like to focus on Boomer, not me." Callie took a slow, calming breath. "Boomer is the thing that is important, that he's in our family now. He's with us."

"That's so sweet," said Fiona, but she had a somewhat mystified look. The piano key teeth of the blonde in the poster formed a halo behind Fiona's Gothness. "How come you didn't bring him? Five pound sack of flour and all that."

Callie remembered that exercise in junior high, in which girls were supposed to care for their flour bag twenty-four hours a day. It was supposed to teach them that babies destroyed your teenage life. "He's home with my Gumms. Me and mom had to get out for a little bit. Get a break. It does change your life. But getting back to what I wanted to tell you, there's something... I can't tell you."

"Is it about who the father is?"

"No, no. Well, partly." It was on the tip of Callie's tongue to say, no, it's about who the _mother_ is. But she couldn't. She needed Fiona to believe in her.

"What d'ya mean, partly?" Callie looked down at her chubby pink hands, clasped together on the edge of the table. It seemed easier if she didn't look at Fiona's face. "You have to try to understand. Sooner or later, you are going to find out that I did some pretty awful things. And I want you to remember that I told you that I couldn't tell you."

Callie stole a glance. Fiona had a twisted smile. "So you want me to forgive you in advance for lying to me."

Callie's heart leapt. She really was a true friend. "Yes, that's it! Exactly!"

Fiona burst into uncontrollable giggles. "You're lying to my face about something, but what you won't say." Her giggle became a short, barking guffaw. "And you want to know if I mind? Oh, fuck me!"

Callie could feel heads turning toward the small booth where they sat. She nudged Fiona's arm, which only produced a fresh set of high-pitched squeals.

"Oh, God! I can't breathe. Yes, I forgive you. I forgive you my child!"

"Please, please, please!" Callie whispered, trying to get her to shut up, or at least tone down.

Fiona dabbed at her eyes, carefully, because of the makeup. "I will forgive you anything, if you promise me that Zam is not the father."

Callie had an enlightened moment. The only sure way to divert attention from the real lie was to focus on the father. The irrelevant lie that everyone seemed so obsessed with. She summoned up a derisive snort. "That I can promise you." And added a theatrical shudder. "I can't even imagine kissing him."

"Yes, that is extremely disturbing."

A gloom gripped Callie. She had told the truth about Zam, and that's all Fiona cared about, or so she said. But who was she kidding? When Fiona really found out, she would feel betrayed, she would consider Callie a dangerous demental, and that would be the end of it. This was going to mean the end of all friendships, of life itself. But she had to do it for Boomer. And for her mom. And for herself.

Whatever she was going to say next died in Callie's throat as David Ross walked into the store. He was with an older man, probably his father. They turned up the aisle away from Starbucks. Callie's eyes followed his retreat. Pipe jeans and a hoody and that gorgeous curly hair. "There's David Ross."

"Yeah." Fiona noisily sucked the last of her drink through the straw. "Guess he didn't see us." She leaned closer. "How does it feel? It must be amazing."

"What?" Panic fluttered Callie's stomach.

"The _baby_. Inside. It must be just..."

Callie had to get out of there now or she was going to lose it. A question asked in all innocence, stirring such a deep fear and turmoil in her that she felt she had to run home and hide under the bed. What had ever made her think she could pull this off, or that she should even try? And how had her mother ever agreed to it? What a couple of great, fat, brain-dead cows they were!

She pulled out her cell. "Yeah, it is incredible. Actually, it's more amazing now that he's outside. You know what, that's my mom."

"I didn't hear a chime."

"I'll call you soon. But I get very tired. It happens so fast. I just like..." Callie imitated a jellyfish, or anyway she thought of a jellyfish as she slumped down and waggled her arms. She patted Fiona on the hand, air-kissed her from about two feet, and got a somewhat bewildered goodbye.

Callie headed outside, fingering her cell.

Her mom's voice came on the phone. "I'm in front of Target. Where are you?"

"Huh?" Callie turned back. There was the Acura, and the mother with phone in ear. And there, walking out, came Fiona. Callie's mother waved at Fiona, who raised her hand, a little hesitantly. Callie groaned. Now there would be some sort of weird, embarrassing, possibly dangerous conversation, however brief.

Callie saw her mother speak into her cell, and heard, "Where are you?"

"Right here." Callie had almost reached the car.

Fiona and mother both looked at her with expressions that, each in their own way, showed they had something on their mind. And there, leaving the store with the old man, was David, tall and thin and graceful. He looked at her, and then... No!

He came over. "Hey." He bent down and squinted through the car window. "Hi, Mrs. Scharf."

How did he even know her mom? It was unfathomable. He looked at Callie now with those laughing, piercing eyes of his. "Hey. Haven't seen you around."

Fiona gave her an odd frown, like she'd just bitten a licorice jellybean when she expected grape.

Callie couldn't react, because David and his father and her mother were all staring at her. "David? Fiona?"

"Hi." David fist-bumped Fiona. "Know her. Same grade school."

"Hi David." Fiona smiled wickedly. "I didn't know you knew Callie.

"We had Spanish together. She was _muy esmart_." To Callie he said, "You never went to that party."

"No." A silence of stupidity followed, stretching over seconds, lifetimes. Callie vaguely remembered there had been a pool party at someone's house during the summer. Of course she hadn't gone. A pool party? In her shape? "No, I couldn't make it."

Fiona slid massive sunglasses over her eyes. "You knew she missed school all week?

David didn't miss a beat. "Sure. I knew. Sick?"

Callie didn't understand anything that was happening. Did David really know she was out of school? Did he know why?

David's father started to walk away.

"Yeah." He smiled at her. "Well..."

At the very point of telling him about _having a baby_ , she had frozen up, she had envisioned the shock and disappointment that he wouldn't be able to hide, and she couldn't do it. And she barely knew him, really.

As David walked away, Callie turned and saw a kind of awe in Fiona's face that she'd only shown her once or twice in her life. Fiona mouthed the word _David_. With a question mark on the end.

"What?" Callie floundered. Was she saying? What rubbish, what stonking barmy... "No!" She guffawed at the absurdity. "God, no!"

## CHAPTER SIX

The 10:00 sun slanted against the yellow bricks and beige doors of Classroom Building 1000. The stomping of hundreds of student feet on the walkway and threadbare lawn had raised a fine, loamy dust into the still morning air. Callie came down the walkway, looking for the room where her Spanish class was being held. The two girls stared at her.

"There she is," said the brunette in the short skirt, looking right at Callie.

"Did she really do it?" said the one with the glasses and the long, straight hair.

"Let's ask her."

As Callie turned toward them to open the classroom door, the question burst out of one of the girls. " _Callie, is it true?_ "

Callie paused, and smiled at the brunette, a smile that conveyed a bittersweet joy mixed with a worldly sadness thing. At least she hoped that's what it conveyed. "Hi, Ronette."

Ronette had gone to Callie's junior high. They had never been mates, though they bonded somewhat over their unfair treatment by Detention Swenson, the greatest assigner of lunch detention in the known universe.

Ronette nudged her companion. "This's Crystal. You know her?"

"Zup." Callie nodded.

"Zup." Crystal touched the hinge of her angular and kind of stylish glasses.

Callie regarded Ronette cautiously. This could be it. "What'd ya do? Summer?"

"No! What did _you_ do?" Ronnie batted her eyelashes and grinned.

Callie broke into a daft giggle. No one had spoken to her in Biology or Geometry. So this was it. Her chance to make teenage history. She leaned toward them just a little, and it was amazing the way their heads leaned in, too, almost like magnetism at work. "Do you know?"

"Yes!" They replied together. Then the questions came too fast to think about.

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy. I insisted we call him Boomer. I won't tell you his real name."

"Boomer?" Ronette squeaked. And Crystal added, "What was it like?"

Callie's heart fluttered. They seemed to actually believe that she had had a baby. Unbelievable! "Unbelievable!"

"How did it feel?"

Callie grimaced. Best to avoid this area. "Ufff."

Empathetic groans. "Labor?"

"It was so fast, we never got to the hospital. A fireman delivered him. That's why he got the name. The fireman's name was Boomer."

"Oh my god oh my god!"

Despite the excitement, Callie had a script. She would not name the father, would barely acknowledge the need for fathers at all. This was her dig against all the lame boys who had ignored her for the last few—well, really, forever— a lameness that would double when she became skinny and hot before their very eyes in about a month.

She also planned to be very clear that having sex at her age wasn't just a mistake, it was morally wrong. She knew that line of talk would be expected, and forgotten in her listeners' ears before it traveled halfway down their auditory nerves. But all that would come later. Today was Callie's day. She showed them the screen on her Nokia, Booms in his fuzzy white little knit cap. "He was six pounds and seven ounces. Just the tiniest thing!"

Groans of approval and amazement filled the small space between the three girls. Then a couple of boys stuck their jabbering heads into the circle.

"Whazzat?" The one with the huge, shiny beak pointed at the little screen, eyes wide with obnoxiousness.

"Oh, Jesus, it's a marsupial!" This one was named Josh or something.

"Damn! Which end is the top?"

Ronette and Crystal stuck out their skinny bums to shove the boys aside, one bum in a yellow and black miniskirt, the other in white shorts. Somehow it was both aggressive and inviting, the way they did it. The way those bums stayed shoved out just a little longer than they needed to. The boys yelled, the girls laughed, and Callie laughed, too. Someday soon she was going to have a bum like that, and a miniskirt.

Then they went into Spanish class to work on the emphatic tense that you use when you really mean something, except if you don't, or, like you're saying no... It's complicated.

Life had changed for Callie. An indicator light on some cosmic switchboard glowed green and she became accepted. Known. All her doubts about the plan, Callie realized now, had been no more than fear someone would find out the truth. But she quickly realized it wasn't about the baby. It was about her. She had done something. Herself, the person named Callie Scharf.

***

When Zam caught up with her at sixth period photography, Callie was already sitting at one of the student desks near the back of the room, looking pale and weary.

"For lunch I had peanut butter crackers and an apple." She sat sideways at the desk. Kids had only begun to filter into the classroom. The teacher was not in sight.

"That's not a lunch. That's crackers and a whatever."

"I lost my first three pounds."

"Cool." Zam did not know if you were supposed to be able to notice three pounds lost. He sure didn't see it. He sat at the desk next to her. In a lower voice, he said, "So how's it going? Are they buying it?"

An angelic smile lit her face. "Like zories two-for-four-dollah."

Zam felt a kick. It had been his marketing that did it.

"And no one thinks you are the father." She whispered, though there was no one close enough to hear.

"I never claimed—"

"You've been hinting."

"It's a slippery slip and slide, this gossip thing. Is he or isn't he? People make assumptions because we're such good friends." True that he'd been hinting. He had his wares to sell also.

Zam picked up an old Rolliecord camera that the photography teacher kept on one of the shelves. The viewfinder flipped open with a pleasant, sliding sound, and he looked down at the smokey square display. In the screen Callie was right side up, but backwards left to right. It was an odd effect.

As he watched, Callie did something unusual. He had expected her to nail him with a smartass comment. Instead, she bent down as if studying her knees. Then she began to lean toward him.

Zam laughed once. Then he realized she had fainted. He caught her before she came out of the seat.

***

As soon as Zam touched her arm, Callie came to. She knew she had fainted, she remembered it happening, but how long had it lasted? A quick scan of the room told her no one had noticed. She looked at Zam. "I'm okay."

As casually as she could, she laid her arm on the desk and her head on the arm. The bare arm felt cool and clammy against her cheek, which was hot and swimmy. But for a moment she felt safe— felt as if the incident had passed and she would be all right.

Zam was perfect. He moved to the desk in front of hers, sort of blocking her from the room.

"How you doin?" he leaned down and whispered to her.

"Okay. Thanks."

The teacher came into the room, and more students filed in.

Zam pulled a bottle of Powerade out of his backpack and held it in front of her. In the cool glow of the fluorescent light it appeared blood red. "Are you sure you're doin' the right thing? This whole thing, it might be too much for you."

She raised her head and drank a couple of sips of the sweet, salty juice. "I didn't really..." then she just mouthed, _have a fuh-in' baby_. Zam looked hurt that she would even mention such an obvious thing. "But you're on a crash diet."

"Exactly. So I crashed. It's no big deal. It's going to take a few weeks for my blood sugar dealie to adjust."

He leaned even closer, and spoke in a vehement hiss. "That's just stupid talkin.' You coulda smashed your melon like a _cantaloupe_."

Callie closed her eyes and blew a low slow _shush_ between her teeth. The gruff male voice of the teacher rose out of a small hubbub at the front of the class and she opened her eyes again. She propped her head up on her hand, and gave Zam the drinky-drinky motion. He handed her the Powerade and she took a strong swallow.

"Zam..." she leaned toward him, her voice lowering with every syllable. "I'm... happy."

He gave her his saddest hound dog expression. "I would have completed that sentence, _in the middle of the biggest crisis of my life_."

"No." She squeezed his arm. " _Happy!_ "

***

The secretary who became his girlfriend and broke up their marriage was still his secretary during the day, and his girlfriend after work. Since it was almost dinnertime when Michelle called, the secretary was off duty, and the girlfriend didn't bother to hide her suspicion and annoyance Michelle had called her ex-hub Craig to get something straight.

"Is this Michelle?"

Michelle had a very definite picture of her—small and outgoing, with a tattoo that just peeked out from under a short sleeve, and pixie-short hair, platinum blonde on top and dark underneath, as if it had been spray-painted. Michelle had seen her exactly once.

"Yes, is Craig there?"

"Yeah, I'll get him."

"Hello!" he said when he came on. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Michelle knew from Callie that they lived in a two story log home in Show Low—or rather, in it's slightly tonier suburb, Pinetop—and that the place was neither a cabin nor a showplace. The divorce and move of his practice to a resort and retirement town hadn't done Craig's finances any favors. Still, she pictured him in a big sweater and furry slippers.

"I have to tell you something, not because I _have_ to tell you, but because I asked Callie not to tell you, and I don't want any secrets to get in the way of her relationship with you."

"O- _kayyy_." He was doing that annoying do-you-believe-this face to his girlfriend, Michelle could just tell.

"I had a baby."

"Excuse me? You had a baby? She had a baby." Pixie Cut must be standing right there. "How did that happen? Or should I say when?"

"He was born August 27."

"This is the first I've heard. Did you get married?"

"No. I'm raising him on my own. I had asked Callie not to tell you."

"You asked Callie not to tell me?" Pixie's voice could be heard in the background. "Why not?"

Michelle almost told him not to relay everything she said to his her. But better just to get this over with. He had already chosen her over Michelle. "Because you have no need to know. Besides, I don't think you've talked to Callie all summer."

"That's not true. I have talked to her." There was more mumbling in the background.

"You know." Michelle had to say it. "On the phone, I can't see her mouth move, but I can hear her."

"Who?"

"Your friend. What's her name."

"Leave her out of it."

"My point exactly."

"So you're not married. An unwed mother." Michelle could almost see the hardness in his eyes. "What kind of example is that for Callie?"

"Not a good one."

"Are you living with someone?"

"Nope. Nobody."

"Is he at least supporting you?"

"No, don't worry. I didn't call to talk about money."

"I don't know why you would. What you do, and the choices you make, are not my concern, financially. I sure as hell hope Callie doesn't get the idea that having sex and babies is okay when you're not married, and not prepared."

"I'm sure she won't"

"I'm not so sure. I suppose it's too much to expect you to express any kind of remorse, or responsibility."

"You're right about that."

"Good old in-your-face Michelle. Always right, no matter how wrong."

"You had an affair and dared me to divorce you."

"I dared you? You had already left that marriage. In the name of your own truth, no matter how screwed up. I can see things haven't changed much."

"No they haven't. So tell Miss Frosty that I'm hanging up, and you all have a nice evening."

***

**THE BOOMERUMOR** _a blog on the cutest little blunder of joy_

**Weblogs and Social Networking from Blogomatic Universe ®**

Welcome to the second night of the blog. Your hostess, Callie, at the console.

This is the story of a little precios about the size of a loaf of bread. Some want to know if Boomer is his real name. It is real, but it's not official. His real name is Gerald, after our dear sweet grandpa, but you can't call a little thing Gerald, so Boomer it is.

PHOTO OPP

Here is Booms on my pink and blue blanket which my Gummie gave me when I was a baby. Booms doesn't have his own blanket yet, but Gummie is making one. It will also be pink and blue and very soft, like mine.

**FionaCl 9:16 pm:** his head is so round. It's perfect. Like Johnny Depp.

**Boomerumor Blog 9:25 pm:** Johnny Depp?

**FionaCl 9:29 pm:** yes, in that movie when his head was shaved.

**Boomerumor 9:30 pm:** There is no such movie. You're thinking of Elijah Wood in Eternal Sunshine Cleaning.

**Misss Krissstal 9:52 pm:** Do you know Matt Kinzel? He looks a lot like Elijah Wood. He has second lunch, and he hangs around with David Ross.

**Boomerumor 10:00 pm:** Here another picture of Booms with his cousin Andrew, who is about three-ish.

**masserain 10:02 pm:** Elijah Wood is trying so hard to bust out of his Frodian nightmare.

**Misss Krissstal 10:06 pm:** Adan Mazzerain? everyone is getting this.

**Boomerumor 10:07 pm:** I've had about 40 hits so far. So we're still pretty local.

Time to say goodnight, all tuckered out after a long day....

**THE BOOMERUMOR** _a blog on the cutest little blunder of joy_

**Weblogs and Social Networking from Blogomatic Universe ®**

## CHAPTER SEVEN

Michelle sat with Edouard, Jock, and Donna in blue canvas chairs on the terrace overlooking the hotel pool.

"At night," Jock chuckled, "you can't tell if this is the Comfort Suites or the Phoenician." Another hot day had cooled off nicely when the sun went down, and the still pool, deserted by swimmers and lit from within, cast a placid aqua glow over the area. But the setting did not ease Michelle's anxiety. Two little spotlights shown in her face, and a wireless microphone hung on her collar. A crew member named Javier stood behind a camera on a tripod, muttering comments Michelle couldn't hear to a woman next to him who fiddled with another small camera. A new man sat behind Donna, sort of off her elbow. Tall and serious and silent.

"I didn't know there would be cameras," said Michelle. "Aren't we just talking about what we're going to do on the show?"

"I told you, darling," Edouard cut in, with a slightly exaggerated drawl that to Michelle signaled his anxiety. Yes, he had told her. This was their face time with Jock and Donna, a chance to boost their chances by being interesting, or weird, or pushy, or funny, or sexy, or _something_. Michelle understood this, but she was deeply ambivalent about playing the fool, or the bitch.

"Yep, just us talking." Jock ran fingers over the iron-gray spikes of his hair. He turned to a man sitting at a nearby table wearing headphones and looking at a laptop. The man nodded. "But we need video and audio on you two. It's standard stuff. Don't know if we'll use any of it." He crossed a leg over his knee. He wore good-fitting knee length shorts. His legs were tan and trim, just like every other part of him you could see. "I just thought it was nicer out here tonight. Get out of that cracker-box meeting room."

In her mail the previous evening, Michelle had received another medical bill, from the anesthesiologist. Nine hundred bucks, and all Michelle could remember him doing was telling the nurse to give her some pain pills.

So she had to get her mind right. "No, it's nicer out here."

"You'll get used to it," Donna assured Michelle. Always the supportive one, looking out for her flock of contestants.

Jock smiled at Michelle. "This is an important decision. If you don't want to do weight loss, what are some options?"

What was he talking about? Michelle's anxiety spiked, and she glanced at Edouard. Jock seemed to have almost no idea who they were.

Edouard's eyebrows waggled in surprise. "Actually..."

Michelle cut in. "We want to do the weight loss now. That was before when I didn't want to."

Edouard continued. "Last April. You know, before the hiatus."

Jock's expression did not change. "So you do want to do the weight loss? That makes it easier. Weight loss is bedrock reality TV. No matter what else is happening, it's good to have someone fighting that good fight, and winning."

"I'm sure now that we can do it." In April, losing weight would have been impossible. Now she knew she would lose at least some pregnancy weight. Was that cheating? "Still, it's not easy."

"Course not. But we'll see you through it. We've got a guy coming in tomorrow, a super motivator." Jock glanced at the man sitting behind Donna. "That's comped, Fletcher."

The TV light glinted off the new man's geometric glasses, hiding his eyes. He produced a grim twitch of a smile.

Jock turned back to Michelle. "And we've got spa sessions."

"Great!" Michelle nodded at Edouard.

"Great!" he said.

"So we're losing weight." Jock clapped his hands. "What else you got?" Michelle did not understand. "What else?"

"Yeah." Jock leaned back. "What's your special story? Why should people care?"

"Something to give us a little more depth on you two." Donna gave her that warm, open smile.

Donna had beautiful hair, a great figure, flawless skin. She seemed to be in her mid-thirties. Michelle wondered if she herself had looked like that five years ago. Or ever.

"You've looked stressed," Donna continued.

"I've been stressed."

"Is it something at home? Money?"

Michelle tried to calm her breath. "The weekend before we started filming... the weekend before last—God, is that all it's been? We had a baby in our house." No, she had to be clear. "My daughter had a baby. Only fifteen."

No one gasped in horror. No background music swelled. The cameras did not zoom in on her, as far as she could tell.

Donna nodded. That warm smile. "Congrats. You're a g-ma."

"Yeah. I wasn't ready for that."

"It can be such a blessing, I'm sure of that."

Michelle's voice kept getting thicker, and she had no control over it. "We were going to give him up, but we'll be raising him."

Edouard cleared his throat. "It'll teach Callie to be more responsible."

Michelle stared at him. He needed to learn that on this subject he was not allowed to say anything. "She's not irresponsible. She's, she's just caught in a confusing situation. In life."

Edouard snorted. "Her father gets some of the..."

Michelle quashed him. "We're not getting into that."

"Yes." Donna jumped in. "These years can be tough."

"It's not the years, it's the miles." The statement hung there a moment over the four of them like a little soap bubble until Michelle chuckled softly. "I have no idea what that means."

Edouard said, "He's the cutest little guy."

Michelle thought that was enough. She'd admitted what she had to admit, but she didn't want to plant the idea that the baby would be on the show. "He's about average," she said. "Now _Edouard_ was a cute baby. You should see the picture. It's hanging in his hallway."

Jock chuckled. "Well, if it's very cute, maybe. We have high standards."

"I want to make sure," Michelle made a little lasso in the air with her finger. "That the show focuses on Edouard and me."

"Sure," said Jock. "That's your call."

Michelle glanced at Edouard. "We could do Edoo's idea."

Jock nodded. "The, uh, animal preserve, uh..."

"Destination weddings," Edouard reminded him. "As a startup business by us. At natural settings where wild animals—there's a place the Nature Conservancy has over at Aravaipa. There's some others down south, and up around Flagstaff there's a private elk reserve."

Jock shook his head, glancing at Fletcher again. "That's really not going to work. It's an idea, and probably a good one. But it sounds like it needs a lot of work to make it happen. We need something we can film, like, tomorrow.

In a long moment of silence, Michelle listened to the lazy gurgle of the deserted swimming pool. A man and a woman walked by, silhouetted in the greenish light, the woman badgering her mate about some transgression. "That's just not the time. Not howz your kids, howz your grandkids, you know? Not when we're trying to go..."

The man made no reply, and they kept walking, never glancing at the film crew with the bright lights and strange equipment. Her hectoring voice bounced off the walls and balcony rails of the surrounding rooms and faded away.

"Okay, so what are we left with?" Jock looked at Donna.

"Well." She touched her chin. "There is one possibility. How are you two doing?"

Edouard squirmed in his chair, which squeaked like it wanted to collapse.

"Us two?" Michelle could feel the lenses zooming in on her now. Were they talking about her and her baby?

Jock glanced from Michelle to Edouard. "Yeah. Tie the knot?"

"Oh!" Michelle shifted gears. "Uh... well." How to find the words?

"Unh-Uh." Edouard shook his head. "Not really a possibility."

Michelle felt a little surge of relief that the idea of them getting married was definitely dead to him as well.

"Not even in a wildlife preserve?" Jock gave them his most honeyed tone. "That way we all get what we want."

"No!" Michelle laughed, and wagged a finger at Jock.

Jock leaned toward her. "Fletcher, here, has an idea that we cut the number of finalists to just two couples, not four."

For the first time the new man smiled with his whole face.

"Really?" Michelle looked down at her hands in her lap, showing the top of her head to the cameras. So that was the game. Either give them something juicy or you're out on your ass. Obviously what they wanted was either Booms and Callie and teenage sex, or Edoo and herself as the bickering, hopeless lovers. When the meat gets tough, the tough keep chewing. "Let's put it this way." She took Edouard's hand. "We're not at a high point right now."

Edouard made a strange surprised sound, a cough mixed with a giggle.

"We had some issues this summer." Michelle felt herself acting sad on purpose. Just a little.

"Yeah." Edouard came to life, his eyes and mouth working together really for the first time since they'd been sitting there. "I was a real, a real, jerk-ass."

Michelle waited until Edouard met her gaze. "But we could work on those things."

Edouard nodded. "We have to try. It means too much."

At this point, Michelle felt certain that everyone in the group knew what they were talking about. It had nothing to do with a relationship, and everything to do with a show. She was not being real, she was acting. And Edouard had picked up her cues and improvised. That's what reality television wanted from them, and they delivered.

A warm, wiggly phrase crossed her mind. "We're losing weight, but finding each other."

Jock's tan cheeks glowed with happiness. "Not bad! They're losing weight... but gaining love."

Michelle smiled. "You print it any way you want."

***

As he drove her home, Edouard patted her knee, relaxed and confident again. "I'm sorry about this summer."

Michelle took very little satisfaction from this apology. "Me, too."

She stared out at the stores and lighted signs around PV mall, still brightly lit, though there were few eyes around to see them at this hour.

"I don't know what happened. We never seemed to get on the same page."

Instead of unloading on him, Michelle spoke from the heart. "I felt very rejected, at a time when... well."

"I'll do better."

"No." Now she had to set him straight. "No. I haven't changed my mind about us. I'll play your girlfriend. I'll play like we're getting closer. But I'm not going to mix up the show and my life. You play your role. I think you should be pretty good at it."

Edouard looked at her in surprise. "I never pretended any feelings toward you."

"Isn't that the truth."

"I mean, I really liked you. I still do."

This big lug, always hanging around the edges of her affection. Never quite bad enough for her to just wing a frying pan at his head and be done with it. "I liked you, too. But this is a job now. Just remember to keep it real on the set, by which I mean, phony, but believably phony. And keep it real off the set. By which I mean, don't get the show and our lives confused. Maybe we'll win some money, but we'll go our separate ways. That's it. That's everything."

***

"So how about a drink?" Jock said to Fletcher. He had sent the film crew packing. Sure, Jock wanted a drink, but he also wanted to explore the Shakespearean edict to keep one's friends close, and one's enemies closer.

"Do they have a bar here?" Fletcher flashed his casually arrogant smile, letting Jock know who was responsible for placing him in a cheap motel behind a mall.

"No. But the Yardhouse is right across the parking lot. Nine hundred kinds of beer."

"I don't drink. On New Year's I have a glass of wine with my wife. Then I'm done for the year."

Typical. Tightass budget ranger. Jock tried to remain impassive as his scorn rose, but you never knew how much your eyes gave away, or your body language. Looking at people on tape had sure taught him that. He retrieved his briefcase from behind his chair. "Well, okay. I think I'll..."

"So tomorrow, then, you are going to the rock climbing school."

"Right." Jock paused. "With Rusty and Tabitha. The X adventurers."

"And you'll have a crew?" Fletcher glanced at some kind of list or roster on his clipboard.

"Yeah," said Jock. "Musgrave, camera, Janie, sound and handheld. We're meeting Leigh there and she's doing makeup and wardrobe."

"There's a wardrobe?"

"Yeah." Jock set his briefcase on his lap. "Shoes and such from, Gear House, I think it's called. Mountain climbing fashions. All comped."

Fletcher nodded. "Yes, now I remember."

"Almost all this comp stuff has been arranged by Donna and me. And we have other people, like Leigh, also working the phones. Leigh is good at it. She came as makeup, she'll leave as an assistant producer." Jock saw the change in Fletcher's expression, and added. "For her next job. Trust me, with our budget, everybody's stretched thin and learning a lot. And nobody gets a promotion."

"And how about Major?"

"Major?"

"Terri Major, P.A. Where's she working tomorrow?"

"Oh." The little sneak. Trying to ambush him about Terry Major. "If tomorrow's Tuesday, then Terry's at school, I think. Goes to ASU."

"Really? And works for you, too?"

"Well, part-time." Jock tapped his fingers on the flat leather of the briefcase, briefly. He recognized the tell and let the hand lay flat and still.

Fletcher gave him a grim look. "Yet she has filled out full-time timecards. Last week I think she even had overtime."

"You keep saying she. Do you know who Terry Major is?"

"Just a name to me. So it's a he?"

"Just a name to you." That was it. Jock set his briefcase on the deck, and slid his hands together as if he was dusting off pancake mix. "Maybe that's why you should leave _production_ to me, and you handle _business_."

Fletcher's eyes widened at this challenge.

Jock leaned into him. "Television shows do not often get made without real people doing real jobs. And I have to tell you, I have never been on a show that asked more of its crew and producer than this one. The local TV news is like Titanic compared to this. I mean _Titanic_ , that movie you may have heard of. It had a big budget."

"I heard of _Titanic_. Look." Fletcher set his shoulders, ready to fight. "You agreed to make the show. You agreed to the terms and the budget, so don't kill the goddamn messenger. It's in your best interest that I keep as tight a control of the budget as possible, or you're going to wind up some cold night with your hand in your pants, no money, and your show half done."

"Look, pal, I can edit in the camera, and add theme music from an iPod. I know what the shit I'm doing here."

"Well, good." Fletcher stood up, and turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he muttered, "Then we should have no problem."

As the asshole walked away, Jock slumped back in his chair and let out a frustrated sigh. Now, on top of everything else, he would have to find a Terry Major.

***

Gumms brought Booms home at four. He was fussy, what Gumms called colicky. He wanted his bottle until he had it, then he would cough and choke until it was taken away. Together they got enough into him that he settled down. Then Gumms left. This was Callie's new routine with her mother gone so much with the show. Callie enjoyed helping out as much as she could. What else would she be doing, anyway, watching telly? Not with Booms awake. He was much more interesting.

She laid him on her bed and played the sax, low, working on the fingerings. Booms had taken to the sound right away. Even though he didn't really smile yet, he bicycled his little legs with happiness. Callie put the sax away and took about thirty pictures, some of which would go to the Boomerumor site.

When she finished the pictures they lay together on the bed, Boomer looking at the things on her wall. He seemed particularly interested in the _High School Musical_ poster on the wall beside the bed.

"What is it, sweetie?" Callie studied the poster. Maybe he was attracted by its red and yellow colors. "Is it the colors? Can you see colors now?"

Booms did the little bicycle motion. Callie took that as a no. _High School Musical_ was an unfortunate relic of Callie's youth that she had not got around to discarding yet. That teeny crapola just wouldn't do for a new mother. Maybe he saw something odd in the way the people across the bottom of the poster, all jumping in the air, appeared to have no feet.

"Is it the feet? They don't have feet?"

Boomer blew a bubble. Callie took that for a yes. "You instinctively know what people are supposed to look like. Like, they're supposed to have feet?"

His cheek quivered, and his mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile.

Callie sighed. Being back in school was a bumpy road of thrills and embarrassments, almost like her BBC summer soaps. Now, alone with Booms, she felt incredibly close to this new person, this bundle of unlimited hopes and potentials.

She also felt a loneliness more profound than anything she had ever experienced. Those English teenage unwed mothers on BBC might have bleak lives ahead of them, a bad job, a bad apartment, life on the dole, even bad teeth. But in one sense, those girls had a great advantage over Callie. They had mates. Chums, confidants, friends. And friends in TV stories would always find a way to pull you through—the best girlfriend with the pixie hair and the goofy grin, the prim and proper one who would come up with the most unbelievably audacious plan, and the boy with the deep, expressive eyes who was destined to be your true love in the end.

Callie had received a lot of interest from some people, like Ronette and her friends. She had felt like a high school celebutante. But she knew how superficial that interest was, and she also felt a chill from some people that surprised her. David had been quite cool, the few times she had seen him, and she assumed that he finally found out that she'd had a baby. And disapproved.

And Zam was copping a serious attitude. The rumor that he was the father, whoever had started it, had become his special project. He blogged and blathered and yammered daily about how ridiculous this rumor was, and every denial only served to extend and spread the rumor. And behind it all was the blackmail of the truth. The more he told Callie that her secret was safe with him, the more she felt that the secret was in danger from him. Faced with these implications and threats, she had begun avoiding him as much as possible.

So the lie that once seemed simple and perfect had already begun shutting down parts of her future, as well as her past. She remembered that poem by Robert Frosting, about the mouse whose plans went awry. And just wait till people found out it was a lie! Then those who had believed it would turn on her utterly.

And they would find out. No question of that. She never had the baby, never got pregnant, never even had sex, because who would have sex with her. _Look_ at her!

Bad as all that would be, the hardest thing was knowing that David would be lost to her forever. That, Callie could not bear. If only she could make it so she wasn't a liar. If only it could be true. But there is no magic in life, no going back, no fairy dust. But if only there was...

Booms had fallen asleep. Callie wiggled her fingers under his small, solid body and his downy head and took him to the crib. She propped him up against the side bumper, the way her mom had shown her.

Callie knew there was a place on campus where students who were also mothers went. But she did not know where to find it. She saw the mothers walking across campus with strollers early in the morning. There must be a daycare place somewhere.

She hadn't met any of the actual mothers yet. If Callie was really going to embrace motherhood, she should find this program, and join in. Those girls would understand how dreams could backfire. It would be a way to make new friends who had a common interest, who had dealt with the dirty looks and rumors that teenage mothers had to endure. And a place for Boomer to make friends!

## CHAPTER EIGHT

Leigh, the makeup woman, gave Michelle a last swipe below the eyes with the blusher. "That should do it," she smiled. "You want coffee?"

"No." Michelle didn't need coffee. "Just a minute or two."

Leigh left, closing the door softly behind her. Michelle heard the voices and movements of Jock and the crew in her kitchen and dining room, setting up to film The Romantic Dinner. Michelle and Edouard had retreated to her bedroom to prepare themselves.

The Romantic Dinner was a light, bistro-style dinner of oatmeal-crusted chicken, with tomatoes, mushrooms, and lemon sage cream sauce, which Michelle would have made for Edouard as part of their late-night "tete-a-tay," as Jock called it several times. Would have made, but the food came from some local restaurant, and it was two o'clock in the afternoon, so the crew blacked out the windows, then lit the dark room with candles and tiny colored lights.

In the half-light, almost nothing would be seen of the house, which Michelle didn't mind. She did not need the extra worry about how her dining room furnishings looked to strangers. The focus would be on Michelle and Edouard, dressed up, made up, and lit to look their best. They were going to go out and talk about their real feelings, their deepest hopes and fears, in front of the crew and the cameras.

Edouard sat on the bed next to her, and slipped on his shoes.

Michelle said. "I'm lost here."

Edouard looked as worried as she felt. "Don't worry."

They had already done some takes in the kitchen, in lighter makeup and casual clothes, sitting on stools, knee to knee, holding big goblets of red wine. Those takes had not gone well. Edouard could be glib and funny in a group, in a room, but close quarters and intimate moments made him shy. And add in the prying cameras, the imperative to perform, and Michelle's own doubt and confusion, and you had paint drying for excruciating minutes at a time.

Edouard took a sip from the wine glass he was still carrying around. He winced as if tasting brake fluid. "We need a script. We need to know where we are at on this night. This is a big night for our relationship."

"Okay."

"Okay?" He laughed. "Come on, work with me. We've had a rough time, but now we are a team again, working out together, watching each other's calories, being body critical and spirit supportive. All that."

"And that's all true." Michelle flexed her arms, still sore from weight training.

"So that's bringing us together emotionally."

"But it's not." A sob shook her, and she felt tears running down the fresh makeup. She had thought she could play the role of the jilted lover with him. But it wasn't working. Nothing could put Michelle at ease for the camera when she knew that the camera could see the truth. She might fool the people around her, but the camera could see it. Could see the full breasts, the sagging tummy, the constant worry about Boomer and Callie, the unbearable tension of living a deception so sick she herself could hardly believe it.

"It's okay." Edouard leaned over to the dresser and popped a Kleenex out of its box. He handed it to her.

She had to make him understand. "I'm confused, angry, and incredibly sad. And needless to say, I'm not feeling very lovely right now." That was all true, but she couldn't tell him the why of it, because the why was the heart of the lie.

"You can lean on me." Edouard pulled her closer and kissed the corner of her mouth tenderly. His arm brushed her breast and Michelle heard a crinkle, and felt him stiffen. His forearm pulled back and there was another crinkle. Michelle could feel it. And obviously he felt it too.

"What is that?"

"Oh, just the bra. It's a new kind. Poly... something." As casually as she could, she squirmed away from him.

"A new kind? Crepe paper?"

"Ha ha." She said those words so slowly, with such sadness, it even startled her.

Edouard drew back, a stricken look on his face. "What _is_ it?"

Michelle took a deep, trembling breath, finally gripped by resolve. The time had come. Unexpected and unbidden, she had arrived at the moment for at least a little bit of truth. She stood up, went to the bedroom door, and pushed the doorknob to make sure it was latched and locked. Turning to face Edouard, Michelle stood up straight and unbuttoned the lavender rayon blouse they'd chosen for the dinner scene. She let it slip off her shoulders and it dropped to the floor.

Edouard stared at her, his mystified look too precious to bear. A giggle escaped her, which she knew sounded almost insane.

She unclasped her bra and let it slide off her arms.

***

Edouard stared at her, stunned. He had just dared to try giving Michelle a little physical affection for the first time in months, and she had burst into tears and started taking off her clothes.

Now, as her bra came off, Edouard understood that she was an alien being. Her breasts were encased in horrible-looking green alien... _plant matter_. Edouard shivered as images from _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ exploded in his brain.

The aliens had taken over Michelle's body—which at least helped explain her recent behavior. As Edouard stared transfixed at the bizarre sight, Michelle pinched her breast and the alien green matter peeled away to reveal... her breast. Edouard almost screamed.

"Cabbage leaves." Michelle peeled off the other one and tossed the green abominations on the floor. "They soothe the breasts."

"The breasts?" Edouard heard his voice but did not understand his own words.

"Yes. You know!" She pointed at them.

Edouard flushed, his stupor giving way to anger in an instant. "I know what they are! Why do they need to be soothed with lettuce?"

"Actually cabbage." Michelle picked up her bra and put it on.

"Cabbage!"

"Because they are tight, and the nipples are inflamed. It's an old wives' remedy."

Back to stupor. "Why are they inflamed?"

"It's automatic. Right after birth. I can't feed him or they'll just keep producing. So they fill with milk. Didn't you notice they were like blimps?"

Edouard shook his head. This was more unbelievable than her body being snatched. She was telling him that...

"I'm Boomer's mother." She was dressed again, and stood very straight, her arms at her sides. " _I_ had the baby."

***

Jock was running tape again. Not really tape, of course. Just an expression. And it was late, of course. Not an expression. A fact.

He punched up Michelle and Edouard. "This's the tete-a-tay from this afternoon."

At least he had the new digital mixer now. It had just been set up in his suite the day before, in the dinette area, a hard-won hardware upgrade from the studio. The room was almost dark, per usual when looking at tape.

"Any good?" she said. Donna had been at thrift stores today with Rhonda and Ashlee, the mother-daughter shopaholics, so she did not know what had happened at Michelle and Edouard's session.

"They were pretty wooden at first, but then..." Jock started the replay. She sat behind him, looking over his shoulder from one of the tall barstools, which had been moved to the niche between the end of the kitchen counter and the start of the couch. The bar itself was now stacked with files and boxes of equipment.

_Michelle sets her fork down. She reaches across the small table and grips Edouard's hands in hers. "I know it's hard to understand, but you don't get to judge me. Especially not tonight_."

"What's she talking about?" said Donna from above him.

"I don't know." Jock held up a finger. "But watch."

Edouard pulls his hands free. "I don't know what to say, but we've got to get together now. We've got to find a way." His voice shakes with emotion.

Michelle glances off camera for a moment, then refocuses on Edouard, her eyes dark bullets of intensity. "Let's slow down. Don't move too fast."

" _Too fast!" Edouard hisses. Red rims his eyes. "You've gone through this whole time alone, kept me out, shut me out, and now you tell me to slow down?"_

_Michelle is swiveling from Edouard, looking off camera to Jock, into the camera. "We need to cut_."

Jock paused the replay.

Donna said, "She looks absolutely panicked."

"Yeah." He pressed Play. "We didn't stop."

Michelle turns back to Edouard. "None of this is your fault. I accept the responsibility."

Edouard seems to choke. "Responsibility!"

_In a rage he stands up and charges out of frame. The camera follows him, weaving through the kitchen, where Edouard shoulders aside the sound man and a boy standing there watching, out the door, where sunlight washes out the image_.

Jock switched to the replay of Camera Two.

Michelle sits, staring straight ahead, furious. She gets up, and walks out of the room.

"And cut." Jock leaned back.

"What's it mean?"

"It means, if they keep this up, we have two more finalists. Is it their relationship? The daughter's baby?" He shrugged. "A button was pushed there. I'd like to find that button. That was a heck of a moment."

"Yes, it was."

"Now we only have two hundred thirty-seven more moments to get through before we call it a night."

Donna stared at the last frozen image of Michelle. "Are her boobs bigger?"

"Might look that way. Leigh helped dress her. Maybe they gave her a little extra something." Jock twisted around and grabbed his notepad off the bar. "So tell me about Rhonda and Ashlee."

***

Callie walked into the kitchen, drawn to the stove where the pot of minestrone simmered. The film crew had gone, taking reality with them, and life flowed back into the house. She could see by Edouard's annoyed expression, and her mom's hardness around the eyes, that something was cooking besides soup.

"How's the baby?" Her mother asked, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "You ready for dinner?"

Callie knew this shorthand. Not waiting for an answer to the first question before asking the second. It meant stress. Tension. "He's asleep."

Michelle twisted the dishtowel into a loose rope. "I want you to know something."

"Well," replied Callie. "I've got something to say, too."

Edouard dove in before either Callie or her Mom could get started. "She told me the truth. I know it's not your baby. I never believed it anyway."

Callie wondered if Edouard would ever understand that he was such a human stumbling block, at least in her life's path. Actually, his announcement confirmed what she had been thinking. "That's just the first crack in the dam. People are gonna find out. Which leads to what I want to say. If I am going to be called the mother, I am going to _be_ the mother. I want to adopt Booms. Maybe not literally, but I will be responsible. I will feed him and wash him, and change his diapers—all his diapers. And take mom classes at school. Because the mother is the one who takes care of the child, not the one who had him."

Edouard put his hand on Callie's shoulder like some kind of cartoon dad. "I'm afraid it's impossible for you to be the mother. Because I am the father."

"You are not the father!" Michelle and Callie said it together.

"Of course I am!" He stomped his foot.

Why, Callie wondered, was this big knucklehead making trouble? "Y'know what? This whole who's-the-father thing is utterly gross to me. I don't want to know what really happened. What matters now is that I have taken the name of mother, so I want to be a real mother."

"No!" Edouard nearly shouted. "Who's the father matters completely!"

"Only if it is you," Callie taunted him. "And it is not. Biologically Mom may be the mother, but I agreed to take the role, and I took it."

***

Michelle bit her tongue. She could believe Callie wanted to be seen as the mother, to feel more like the mother. But her child had no clue what it meant to _be_ a mother. The poor thing was so confused, and Michelle took the blame for that. That was being a mother. She said, "Why did I ever agree to this fantastic... plot—whatever it is."

Callie flung her arms down and hissed. "It was your idea, remember?"

"No, it was not my idea." Though at the moment, Michelle couldn't quite recall how it had come about. "And it's a bad one. It's got to stop."

"It can't stop," said Callie.

Michelle wanted to flick the dishtowel at her. "Oh, yes it can. I'm going to tell Jock. And get kicked off the show."

"What are you going to tell him?" Poor Edouard seemed to have asthma. Things were simply moving too fast for him.

"That I had a baby and I was so fat that no one knew." Michelle felt in no danger of tears—now was the time to be tough. "That's what's playin' at the Roxy."

Callie gave her the now familiar you've-got-PPD look. "What does that mean?"

"Never mind. Musical comedy from long ago about a woman who couldn't lie to herself anymore."

"But don't I have a say in this?" Edouard clasped his hands together as if praying.

"No," Michelle growled. "Not a word."

"I've got to be the father. There couldn't be anyone else."

Was he saying no one else would have her? That would almost make her proud that someone _had_. That would almost make her proud of her moral failing. "There _couldn't_ be?"

"That's right." He gave her his most soulful look. "Because I know you. You wouldn't have."

Michelle staggered a little. It was, in an odd way, maybe the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her.

"No! Stop it!" Callie screeched and covered her ears. "Enough! You've got to quit dealing with the soap opera, and get into the reality of where we are. I lied for you, and now you want to back out on me? No ma'am! No!"

Michelle sat down on the dinette chair closest to her.

"You're going to tell them you are the mother, and I'm not the father?" Edouard sat down next to her. "No matter what you tell anybody, I'm cooked. People are going to assume that I was, one," he held up a finger, and grabbed it with his other hand, "the father, and I tried to hide it by saying my girlfriend's daughter was really the mother. Or two—" Another finger came out, "cheated on by my girlfriend, who then played me for an all-time sucker. Like I said, I know you didn't, but damn it, that's hard to take. That's why I have to be the father. As far as I'm concerned we don't need to discuss it again!"

Michelle couldn't believe how much worse it all sounded when it came out of someone else's mouth. They were right. The lies had gone too far to stop. Yet she knew the lies couldn't hold back the truth forever. Her entire experience as a human being on this planet confirmed that lying and cheating would be punished in the end; that wanting something too much could only lead to tragedy, or at least extreme embarrassment.

Besides, Callie and Edouard were the victims of the lie. She was the perpetrator and she had to make it up to them both. Not to mention Baby Boomer, a toy balloon in this hurricane. She looked at Callie. "So what do you want exactly?"

Callie knelt before her. "I want to keep being the mother, only more so."

"But you are! You've helped with the—"

"—no, not just big sister stuff. Really taking care. That means more responsibility for me, and less for you to worry about."

Michelle stroked a strand of Callie's silky hair away from her eyes. "Okay. But listen. You can do more with Booms. But being a parent mainly means worrying, and I'm still going to be the worrier in chief."

Edouard stood over them shaking his head. "If you're the mother, Michelle, then I am the father. Even if it costs me being on the show. But I really think you should not rock the boat now."

Michelle felt a little like Dorothy saying goodbye to the scarecrow and the cowardly lion. "Then we'll stick with the status quo until... I don't know. But neither of you needs to worry about who the father is."

Edouard stayed for dinner, of course. It was only soup, but it was very good. They were all dieting now, so soup and water would be the whole meal.

"Here's to Boomer." Edouard raised his water glass. "Whoever he is. The cause of it all."

"No." Michelle corrected. "The result of it all."

"The poor little bugger." Callie laughed, and Michelle found herself joining in, almost helpless to resist. Who was what in this world, after all? Who really decided?

## III. THE SHOWER

## CHAPTER NINE

Callie caught up with Fiona walking from the bus stop. By her friend's expression, Callie could tell it was bad news.

"It can't be our place," said Fiona. "It's too small anyway. I would be embarrassed to have people over."

"That's okay." Callie tried to conceal her disappointment. The two girls trudged on toward school, past the usual whiff of ganja by the green bark tree, and the usual Jonathan with his hair molded into Statue of Liberty points, coming from wherever a kid like that keeps his gel.

"What're we going to do? We've got to have the shower," said Fiona. "Everybody wants the shower."

"Everyone who can't give it." As part of her "Total Mother" campaign, Callie had determined that she needed to have a baby shower. Not for the presents, but as a sort of christening, an official welcome to the world for Booms. Her family didn't go to an actual church, so there would be no real christening, and her mom had also prohibido'd a shower at their house, despite Callie's pleas. She seemed to want to keep Boomer some kind of secret. Nevertheless, Callie was proceeding with her plan.

There remained one hope, and here it came, in designer label gym shorts and a jersey tank. Callie spread her arms pleadingly. "Ronette! Please tell me you can save us!"

Ronette sighed. "No. My mom..."

"No!" Callie groaned. "What did she say?"

"'Who the fuck is Callie Sharp?' _Sharp!_ " Ronette grimaced. "Sorry. That's how she acts."

***

The bell rang to end the last class of the day, and the room burst into exuberant chatter. Desks banged and clattered as students ejected from them. Zam slung his backpack up on his shoulder, heading for the door. He could feel Fiona's charcoal eyes staring at him, and he wanted to avoid her. What was there to say? Callie had cut him off from her ever-expanding flock of baby friends, of whom Fiona was the Bo Peep. He knew Fiona didn't like him, and he didn't want to be part of that group, for sure. All he wanted was for people to think he was the baby's father.

Zam hurried down the covered walk. None of this was his fault. He had set Callie up for stardom, but then just when she should have been most grateful, she'd flipped out on him. Then it was just one thing after another. When he tried to help her, she snarled at him. He had started hanging out to watch them filming _Fat Chance_ , gotten to know a few of the crew, and even appeared on camera almost by accident when Edouard unexpectedly came crashing through the kitchen the other day. That caused Callie to accuse him of vampiring on her mother's success. He couldn't win.

In his ear like an evil cricket, Fiona chirped, "She doesn't think of you like that."

They emerged onto the open sidewalk between buildings. A dark cloud blocked the sun in the otherwise sky blue sky. "Well, you don't get screwed by a thought. It takes a man. A mighty meaty sledge-a-man."

Fiona threw back her head and emitted a derisive cackle. Zam gave her a disdainful look just as a big raindrop—a sniper raindrop—landed right in her mouth, making her blink. He laughed.

She punched at him. "I know who it was."

He shook his head. "You have no clue."

"David Ross. She won't admit it of course."

"Suchola Crapstein. You have no idea." This was exactly Zam's point. It would be better for Callie if everyone just assumed Zam was the father. Then all the wild speculation would die away. David Ross was one of these big phony types that Callie hated. "He's going with Julie."

"I know what I saw. She's trying to protect someone."

This attitude of Fiona's was really too much. "No, you don't know, and that's the point. But I do know. And I'm trying to help."

A few more fat but widely spaced drops fell. Fiona held a folder over her head. "You think your lies are fresher than anyone else's? If you want to help, find a place for the shower."

Zam jogged away, dodging drops. Unfortunately, Fiona ran beside him. They reached the overhang of the cafeteria just as the sprinkling died out.

"There's your shower." Zam looked out at the big cloud. He shook his hair.

"The baby shower!" Fiona gasped, "Her mom won't allow it. None of the moms will. It's like a conspiracy."

"No. She's not letting Callie do anything like that."

"But we have to. It's a friendly gesture of welcoming." Fiona made a hula-type move involving her arms and hips.

"Is that the friendly welcoming dance?"

"Of course."

"Well," said Zam. "Too bad about the moms."

"So we're doing it on the sly. On the down low."

"Oh, good luck." But Zam saw a glimmer of something. An opening. "How would you do it?"

"Saturday." Fiona's voice went up a tone. "It has to be Saturday. We just have to get Callie's mom out of the way, and find a place. How come you don't know any of this?"

"We have a different kind of relationship now, Callie and I. We talk about everything that has to do with the baby."

"Again with that? You. Are not. The. Father."

Zam refused to be pushed off his point. "I understand it's tough on her. She's depressed, you know. And it's true she has to bear more of the consequences of our mistake. But is that my fault, or society's fault?"

"Jeezuz Jasper Jonas Brother!" Fiona elbowed him into a metal picnic table. "You may fool the rest of the town, Mighty Sledge-a-ham, but I know her, and I know who!"

Zam shook his head sadly. "You don't know."

"At least I know who _not_."

He tried to show her how mature this experience had made him. "Look, I know things between Callie and me can never go back. That's as dead as Power Rangers. But she shouldn't push me away like that. Or she'll be sorry. That's all I can say."

All Zam wanted was his moment. Once he was free of Friendzilla, walking to his car, he put in a call to Leigh, the makeup lady, who was the only way to get to Jock, because Jock never answered his phone. Zam told her he had something that Jock would want to know about Callie and Michelle.

***

Callie couldn't believe how it all came together that night. At nine o'clock, the baby shower was dead. Then it was suddenly rebooted, and Callie banged out the word on the PC in the kitchen.

**Callie/shower list 9:35 pm:** I just found out my mom is working sat. morning!!! The show called her. So it's official. We go go.

**FionaCl 9:38 pm:** you sure we can trust these guys?

**Callie 9:40 pm:** They're cool. Here's how it went. Ronette dared me, and I went across the street where these single guys are roommates. The place is chill enuf. John and Aaron are very cool about us coming over Saturday with friends. We told them twelve of us. I just hope she'll be gone long enough.

Callie would have preferred almost anywhere else than the home of these beer-swilling bullet heads. That's how she thought of them, but maybe it was only a prejudice because they dressed like slobs and shaved their heads and worked as bouncers or limo drivers. After all, they had been in the house more than a year, and hardly a peep out of them.

**Ronette 9:40 pm:** Yeah they are nice guys. They said we just have to ignore the other roommate Charlie or something. No booze and clean up when you go.

**Misss Krissstal 9:44 pm:** We can be out of there in two hrs.

**Ronette 9:51 pm:** boys coming?

**FionaCl 9:55 pm:** You couldn't drag them to a baby shower.

**Callie 10:01 pm:** Bimboys are banned.

**FionaCl 10:01 pm:** I'll bring cake. We need other food.

**Callie 10:02 pm:** I've lost 15 pounds and I'm ready for a fluffy cake and some nachos.

***

As soon as David and Julie walked into her house, Julie's mom insisted that any other hopes and dreams had to wait until Julie made her bed and cleaned her room.

So David leaned against the door frame, keeping company. He hadn't been in this room before, and quickly checked it out. Obviously the Cabbage Patch Kids bedspread was supposed to be ironic. And the exotic mixture of scents—incense, perfume, cinnamon oil—was intended to be sensual. Or sensuous, whichever it was. And that the unmade bed and clothes on the floor were acts of rebellion.

"Yes, let the bed be made for four hours," Julie grumbled. "That's very important. Bourgeoise suburban values."

David was neutral on the values issue. "So this Fiona comes out of nowhere and asks me to come to this thing for Callie. Shower thing."

"Why you?" Having finished the bed, Julie bent and plucked up the clothes that grew like pastel mushrooms on the bedroom floor, swooping like a ballerina, her blonde hair swishing prettily.

David ran his fingers along the doorjamb. "Because she wants a couple of boys there for security."

"Okay, that's a first." Julie's blue eyes darted to him as she tossed handfuls into the hamper. "But why you?"

David really didn't know. He did have a life and friends away from Julie. At least he used to. "I don't know. I said okay. I said we'd pick her up."

Julie frowned. "I'm not going."

"Why not?"

"Cuz no one asked me, I don't know where it is, and I don't really know Callie that well. So why should I? And buy a present, too? Plus, there's going to be alcohol there." Julie sat cross-legged in the middle of the twin bed, rumpling the covers again. "If I'm going to get busted, it's going to be for something more fun than that."

"Really?" David had his doubts about the alky, at ten in the morning or whatever.

Julie nodded. "Yeah." She shot him an impatient face. "You're doing it again."

David dropped the hand that had been twirling his black diamond ear stud. For some reason that ear thing really bothered her. "I don't want to go alone. I mean, what happens at these things?"

"Oh, they are soaked in feminine fun." She laughed, but not in a charming way. "Don't worry, you'll have a great time."

"I kind of doubt that. I look at it like going to a StuGo meeting. Or a charity car wash." David quickly measured his feelings for this girl versus how good it felt to tell the truth to someone who did not necessarily want to hear it. It came out about a draw. "Maybe you don't want to go because you don't like her."

Julie raised her hands, and the pitch of her voice. "I haven't said a word against her. I do like her. I've read her blog, and she seems very open and honest. You can't ask more than that. I've talked to her more in the last two months than ever."

"Bu-u-u-u-ut..." David coaxed.

"Yeah, okay! It's wrong to have sex at our age and wronger to let yourself get pregnant."

"Hey, I'm with you. When the father is a rumor and not a father, that's pretty bad. It'd be better if there was no father."

"Who, Art in heaven?" She smiled coolly.

"But I already told her I'd go."

"So go."

"But it's just going to be girls there. You know, I don't want to be the bull in the china cabinet."

"Bull in a china _shop_. So don't go." Julie crooked her hands for him to come closer, and David somewhat reluctantly left the door frame and sat on the bed. Her arms snaked from behind around his shoulders. "Come spend the time with me."

"Maybe Mike will go with me." David couldn't say it to Julie, of course, but Callie Scharf was interesting. He remembered noticing her the first week of freshman year, a cute chick who didn't go to his junior high. She had given him a big, friendly smile the first time he saw her, and ever since. She had gained some weight, but never lost that smile. And then this whole thing, having a baby, out of nowhere it seemed. How did that happen? Yeah, she was interesting. Not irresistibly attractive or anything, but worth investigating.

"David." Julie laid her hand on his. He had been cracking his knuckles again. That really bugged her. He gave his left ring and little finger one more pop, to balance things.

"Fiona Whatsername said Zam is not the father." He spoke over his shoulder at Julie. He hoped her mom didn't walk by the bedroom and see her daughter draped over him like this.

"I heard he was." Her fingernail flicked his shirt button. "I think Callie blogged something that was supposed to be in code or something. Or a hint."

"That seems weird. I think what she's saying, Fiona is, is that at this thing Callie's going to say who the father is, and it's not Zam. Maybe Kilpatrick will go with me. But there's only one thing."

"What?"

"Will you buy the present for me? I'll give you twenty bucks."

She jabbed him in the kidney. "Kiss my ass."

"Sure." He twisted around and grabbed her. "Roll over."

***

By Friday Michelle felt a lot better. Edouard and Callie had convinced her that the honest thing for her to do was to continue to tell the lie. Michelle was not afraid of the truth, but Callie really wanted to be the mother, and Edouard really wanted to continue on the show as they were. Thursday night she had her first night of peaceful sleep in, actually, she didn't know how long.

Today, Michelle and Edouard were at a yoga-based physical and emotional therapy session with Nashon and Linda, who both suffered emotional disorders, and Mark and Paula, the addicted-to-adultery twosome. The _Fat Chance_ producers liked to combine teams on symbiotic challenges, and this, they must have figured, would be good for these three couples, who needed to learn both relaxation and discipline. They had come, with a taping crew, to the large, shiny-floored aerobics room at Fitness Plus, and at the moment they were attempting a position and state of mind known as Half Moon.

As Michelle swung her leg around, her foot grazed Linda's protruding, sweatpants-covered bottom. "Sorry," Michelle whispered.

Linda wobbled dramatically, tried to hold her position, and collapsed, stifling a sob. She sprang up and ran out of the studio. Michelle was stunned. The cast and crew watched through the glass wall as Linda walked head down past the forest of exercise machines in the main room of the fitness center. Nashon bumped past Michelle, muttering. "Thanks _so_ much, lady."

Michelle looked at Jock automatically for an explanation, or a chance to defend herself. They all looked at Jock in reaction to everything now. That's the way the camera wants it, they had learned. "I only..."

Jock's eyes were on Donna and the cameraman with the super mini, who had taken off after Linda and Nashon. But the main cam remained in the aerobics room.

"She's OCD." Paula's accusing eyes glared pointlessly at Michelle, and the camera swung to her. "She's been working on letting herself be, touched, you know?"

Jock walked toward Michelle, a look of concern on his face. "You knew that, right?"

She knew they were all pushing her for some kind of indignant response. That's what they always wanted from her—to give somebody hell. But Michelle wasn't going to bite today. Let them get their phony drama elsewhere. How about trampy Paula in her skintight leotard and cleavage? Not me today, Michelle muttered to herself, and let the negative emotion pass out her chakra or whatever into the atmosphere. "Yeah," she said. "I'm sorry."

Edouard, standing next to her, looked at Jock and lifted his meaty arms in the classic gesture of innocence. "She didn't mean anything" Michelle flexed her shoulders, then crouched down and assumed the starting position they had been working on.

The instructor took this cue. "All right, let's begin again."

***

As they left the aerobics room at the end of the yoga session, Edouard touched her arm. "I've got an idea."

"I'm listening."

They walked under the row of silent televisions that the bikers and walkers and elliptical sliders always strove toward, but never reached. Edouard clutched both ends of the towel that hung around his neck. "You could, like go super sorry, go apologize to Linda."

" _Go_ sorry? Like put on a hugely fake emotion and wait for Gary and Javier to get into position, action, roll 'em? You mean like that?"

Edouard winced. "Okay, okay. You got me. Keep it real. You're right."

"No. _You_ are right. Where did she go?" Of course he was right. Making moments out of the mundane was her job now. And apologizing would not be phony, because she liked Linda and she did feel bad that she'd been a little careless about her space.

Near the racquetball courts, five or six men in Phoenix FD tee shirts stood or sat watching a game through the glass wall of a court. One of them glanced at Michelle, and did a double take. He had a neat but sort of brushy mustache and goatee, and after the double take, Michelle realized it was Boomer. The original. The deliverer. Michelle felt a little fizz of mixed emotions—fear, joy, attraction, shame.

He waved, and Michelle slowed down. Edouard trudged toward the entrance, oblivious. She almost called to him, automatically, but Edouard wouldn't know the fireman, and in fact, it would be better if no one did. This big beautiful guy could blow the whole thing for her, with just about anything he said. He obviously remembered her, so she had to speak to him.

Quickly looking around as if someone called her, Michelle saw no one from the cast and crew anywhere near. "Hi!" Michelle gave him a bright smile. "Remember me?"

## CHAPTER TEN

On Saturday morning, Callie said goodbye to her mother and Booms as they headed out the door, her mother to a film session, and she was dropping Booms off at Gumms' on the way. Because, Callie told her, she was hanging out with some new friends from Mommy 101, as the unwed mothers' group from school was called. Michelle said she would be gone until after lunch.

Callie made the call, and in about a half hour, girls began to arrive at her house. Several came with Crystal, who not only had a driver's license, but a car. As they arrived, excited and giggly, Fiona gave them balloons to blow up, and the resulting lightheadedness increased the giddiness of the scene..

"Why don't we just have the party here?" asked Peri, Callie's friend from the woodwind section.

"Because Callie's mom said she couldn't have a shower." Fiona tried to catch her breath. "So we're just hanging out. With balloons. That's why no presents."

"But I brought a present!" said Peri.

"So did I!" Fabiola held up a plastic bag from Target.

They all laughed as they collected the white balloons in large trash bags. When everything was ready, Callie led the girls across the street and down two doors, to the party condo. As she approached, the front door opened, and Johnny peered out. He was the one of the three roommates Callie had actually talked to. He wore black pants and a white dress shirt, like the limo driver or waiter that he was–Callie couldn't quite remember.

"Can you do this later?" He stood there, his pasty face mashed into a squint.

"What!" Callie couldn't believe it. "You said... ."

"Yeah, well Chase is still asleep."

"So?" Callie wasn't going to be stopped, or even slowed down. "I'm here. We're here. You told me it'd be cool. I texted you last night."

"We just don't want to disturb him, y'know."

"Is he sick?"

Johnny scratched his ear. "Naw. But got in late. He's a bear if you wake him up."

"So there's a rude man sleeping in the back room? What am I supposed to do?" Callie glanced at the girls behind her, standing there with their bags of stuff. She turned back to Johnny. "You could have at least told us before we got all this crap ready."

Johnny sighed dramatically.

Callie grabbed his hand. "Pleeeeeeeeeze?"

He stepped back, opening the door. "Screw it. But keep it down."

"Yay!" Callie made short, happy claps and walked in. The sparsely decorated room had been picked up, if not exactly cleaned. The furniture looked new and rented. Wouldn't want to get too close to that carpet, though. "It looks nice. Thanks, Johnny."

"No problem. I'm going to work in about twenty minutes. Clean up after yourselves." And he disappeared down the short hall.

Since none of their mothers came, the girls could do it any way they wanted, and that was half the fun. Decorating consisted of dumping the balloons onto the floor and kicking them around–quietly–which gave the smallish living room the feel of being a cloud land. Fiona came up with the balloon idea, and brought the white diaper cake, and the punch in gallon jugs. They found extra chairs in the kitchen, and the girls set them up in a nice sort of oval around the room.

The scene warmed Callie's soul. Every one of these girls was a doll party veteran from childhood, whether with glitter unicorns or Bratz or Digimon action figures. How nicely they arranged the chairs and laid out the snacks on a narrow table near the kitchen, and even though the girls didn't all know one another, they sat down and made polite conversation about clothes and the presents they had brought. Besides Fiona, Ronette, and Crystal, the group included Angelique and Bunny from the teen mom's class, Peri from marching band, and Fabiola, a grade-school friend. Though there were no babies present, they dominated the conversation as thoroughly as if they'd been crawling around among the pearl white balloons.

There was a knock on the door, barely heard, and Zam stuck his head in. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself." Callie stood up. She wondered why he was here.

"No bimboys!" someone said.

Callie waded through the balloons toward Zam. Music began to play. Ronette had brought a small boom box, and a low pop-hop wail now snaked through the room. Callie turned, but Ronette had already lowered the volume, looking around with her finger on her lips.

Callie faced Zam. Was he here to make trouble, or to be a friend? "Yeah. So like, this party is our little baby shower. Only those invited."

"Didja bring a present?" Someone interrupted.

"Well, a card." Zam handed Callie a baby-blue envelope.

"Thank you..." She took it reluctantly.

"No, let's see." Fiona reached up from her seat, and Callie gave her the envelope.

Fiona peeked inside the envelope. She handed it to Callie. "Oh, let him stay. But he has to play all the shower games. You know what those are, don't you, Zam?"

Callie wavered. He did look fairly presentable. His hair curtain was combed back from his face—though it wouldn't stay there long. And he'd put on a shirt with actual buttons, a red and black plaid cowboy shirt that hung over his skeletal torso. Zam was certainly an old friend, and a unique personality. Callie couldn't think of another boy who would subject himself to this.

There came another knock on the door. Zam stepped deeper into the room, and Callie opened the door.

And in comes David Ross. Callie blinked hard, as the girls behind her whooped with delight. David, in a big-striped shirt, his curly hair glistening with natural sheen, had come to her party. He leaned over and gave Callie a loose, brotherly hug.

"Hey." He smiled at her.

Besides not being invited, he had been acting very cool toward her every time she saw him, and Callie took that as moral superiority, which she had become very good at recognizing. So what was he doing here, with that sly smile and those mumbled greetings? He didn't seem to know any of the girls, or Zam. But now he gave Fiona a hug. And Fiona gave Callie a mysteriously knowing look.

David and Zam moved through the balloons, conversation resumed, chairs were found, but David didn't sit down, he grabbed a cup of punch and stood by the snack table. Came another knock. David was closest. He opened the door.

***

The rental van turned into Michelle's condo complex, but Edouard could see that Javier the cameraman, who was driving, didn't know which house to go to. The van had pulled up a hundred feet short of Michelle's condo. Michelle, sitting next to him on the second row seat, tapped him on the arm, and Edouard pointed. "It's—"

"No." Jock looked back at them from the front seat. "This is it. Your daughter has a surprise for you."

"Oh?" Michelle touched her collarbone, eyes wide with apprehension.

The crew crawled out of the van.

Michelle whispered, "What is this?"

Edouard shook his head. He smelled an ambush.

Jock led the way up the short walk of the condo. It resembled Michelle's place, but on the opposite side of the street, with different plants. Gary moved smoothly backward behind Jock, filming Michelle, who walked ahead of Edouard. Javier, on the other camera, panned them from the side. Donna and the few other crew people followed a few feet behind Edouard.

When they reached the front door, Jock rang the bell, and a boy opened it. He looked like he was Callie's age, but it wasn't Zam. Jock stepped aside, and Michelle went through the door. Edouard heard feathery exclamations of surprise from female voices. Someone's arm held him back, and Gary and his camera slipped in behind Michelle. As Edouard followed, he saw girls, balloons. Was it a wedding? Some sort of teen fashion party?

Donna had appeared beside him. "It's Callie's baby shower!"

Someone had to say it on-camera, or at least on the sound track. Edouard knew that. The Spurious Announcement was a reality show cliché. A few days before he would have shrugged it off, and wondered why Jock was filming Callie. But now that he knew the truth about Callie, everything seemed dangerous and uncertain. Jock had stage-managed this, so there must be an embarrassing surprise on the way.

Callie stood. She looked uncertain and fearful, but she held out her arms to her mother. Gary had already moved across the room and turned to get them in a two shot. Crew people still filed in, and all the movement kicked white balloons in the air. Edouard wondered if the scene would be considered artsy because of the balloons. It was really quite an effect.

Michelle hugged her daughter. She turned to Jock. "This really isn't cool. We discussed it. My kids aren't kibble for the show."

Jock put a hand on her shoulder. "Did you know about the party?"

Michelle shot Edouard a glance. Jock had her hemmed in, and that hand on her shoulder was a subtle but firm admonition to stay in Gary's viewfinder.

Sensing she was just about to walk out on the whole thing, Edouard blurted out an inanity. "It's definitely a surprise. Definitely!"

Michelle recovered. "Of course I knew. Though maybe Callie didn't know I knew." She took Edouard's hand. "Ever been to a shower?"

Edouard could see the glint behind her smile. He was pretty sure everyone could see it. Girls scooted over on the couch and Michelle squeezed in next to Callie. Edouard perched on the arm of the couch, supporting his weight on one leg. Jock retreated into the mouth of the hallway, and Donna jammed into the corner by the door. The film crew had overwhelmed the girls, being not just older men and women, but obviously hip or trendy because they were on a film crew. They all carried a faint stink of sexual ambiguity and availability—Javier in his tight red Underarmour shirt, and the lighting girl with her Betty Boop look, and even Jock, over thirty but with the perfect tan and the battleship gray hair that made gray hair look good. The kids didn't know how to act with the cameras on, the mini sound boom pointing at them, and Jock peering around the corner from the hallway.

Michelle leaned close to Edouard. "I'll get him for this."

***

Callie's first thought was to find and arrange the death of the traitor, the one who somehow had access to her mother and the television show, and somehow knew the time and place of this party. And it could really only be one person, she suddenly understood. Couldn't be Edoo. He clearly knew nothing. Couldn't be any of the girls. Couldn't be Zam, who was grasping at anything he could get from her. There was only one possibility.

David Ross. He wanted to embarrass and humiliate Callie for reasons she did not understand. That's why he was here. Somehow he'd got to Jock, and convinced him to turn her shower into a fiasco. Maybe he had brought a scarlet letter with him. A U for Unwed teen mother? I for Irresponsible youth? Maybe S for slut. But why was he picking on her? Had Callie disappointed him so much? How could that be, when he never even cared for her?

So now he wanted to tar her for bad morals, or bad choices? Yes, she'd made a mistake! One night, that's all, with a bassoonist from Muncie whom she would never see again. And he wasn't even real. But keeping with the story, was Callie supposed to have killed the baby? Or given him away? Bad choices? She'd thought keeping the baby was a good choice...

While Callie stared at David, Crystal came up on her other side, and kneeled down, with her hand on Callie's knee. One of the TV women held up a glowy white reflector thingy, and Crystal stared into it as if hypnotized. She glanced at Callie. "My cousin said something would happen today. She reads palms."

"Reads what?" But Crystal's gaze had already swung back to the reflector. And Ronette was introducing herself to Michelle with a flamboyance that would shame Perez Hilton.

David just stood there in front of the gas station sign that passed for wall decor, his expression arrogant and unforgiving. When he looked at her Callie mouthed the word, "Why?"

He just smiled. "It's all good."

What the fnork did that mean, Callie wondered? But now Zam waved at her. He had been around a couple of these tapings as a roadie, like the time he was supposedly taking Callie on a date, and they walked out of the house and then came back in. Normally he would stay out of the picture, either hanging out with Callie or fetching for the crew. But today he seemed to want the camera badly.

Completely out of nowhere, he said, "I'm completely here for you."

Every nose in the room pointed at Callie. She gave a ping-pong answer. "I'm all here for you, too."

He stood and leaned over her. "No. I think it's important to say this. There's been some questions raised. I want you to know I'm ready to take responsibility for supporting you any way I can."

An awkward silence broke out. Suddenly the normally silent Bunny, at the south end of the chair circle, waved both hands at Zam dismissively. "The three most worthless words in the English language." She looked around. " _I support you_. And the other five that aren't worth anything. _I'll be there for you_."

All the girls just stared at Bunny. For her to be stepping out like this must mean something important. Something about her baby or how her baby came to be.

"They both mean either you're not going to do a damn thing for me but sit here saying 'Right On,' or you're going to make me do something I don't want to do, and expect me to be grateful to your sorry ass, because you _support_ me." Bunny flashed a pleasant smile to show she was done. "That's what that's about, to me. But go on."

Zam looked into the camera from his half crouch, as if hoping for advice. Callie knew he wanted to be the father, and she could not allow that. The question was, if she ended his fatherhood, would he end her motherhood? "I appreciate the, uh, support, Zam. You were there when he was born."

"Yep, sure was. So I know what he went through. You went through. We all went through."

With that comment, Callie had had enough. She did not know where this new, assertive, almost suave but finally jerk-ass Zam came from, but now she had to send him back to his hole. She patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, we appreciate you keeping the secret that you are not the father."

Zam glared at her. "Oh, really?"

Callie could see heads turning swiveling and looks flying. "No. The father could not be present that day. But he knows everything he needs to know. I have chosen to raise the baby on my own, with my mother and grandmother. And the support of my friends, all of my friends who want to help. Equally all of them. Including you if you want to be included."

"Maybe there's just one more thing that the father needs to know." Zam stared at Callie from under his dark forelock. He shifted his gaze to Michelle. "Everyone needs to know."

***

David knew vague outlines of the rumors about the baby's father. The Zam rumor was rather old. David had heard yesterday that the father was a well-known basketball player from another school. He felt a nudge in his ribs.

Fiona looked up at him from her chair. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Don't you have anything to say?" she whined impatiently.

"Sure." David, baffled, gave it a stab. "Congratulations."

Fiona held her hands up as if balancing pies. "Congrats! To who?"

David still wondered what she was getting at. "To whoever needs it! Congratulations, Callie, on the baby. Congratulations, Zamaria, on the—the non-fatherhood, I guess."

Zam looked stiff and offended. "For the record, I never made a claim. That was a rumor started somewhere."

Fiona leaned toward Zam. "Yeah. On a blog post. Oh, that's right! _Your_ blog post!"

Zam shook his head. "That was never on there."

Fiona raised her voice to command attention, as if everyone wasn't already watching her. "The real father remains unknown to most of us." She gave David a meaningful look.

Callie raised a finger, ready to say something.

"What!" It hit David suddenly, like a left hook from nowhere. An uncontrolled laugh burst out of him. "Me? You're joking! Holy... That's unbelievable. Who ever said?"

The cameras had swung onto David now, and everyone stared at him, but nobody answered his desperate question.

"Callie!" David laughed at the absurdity of it. "You can tell them."

Callie stood up and faced the camera to David's left. Uncertain, the other girls all stood, and faced the camera.

"No, no!" Callie motioned them back into their seats. "No, David is not the father. I have said all I am going to say about that." Then she locked eyes on the very tan TV guy standing behind the one cameraman. "Am I on this show? Am I paid to be on this show?"

The tan guy shook his head.

"Then stop. All of this."

The tan guy stared up at the corner of the ceiling, as if his response were written up there. Before he could speak, from somewhere back in the house came a heavy, animal growl, and a large man with a shaved head pushed his way out of the hall, past Jock and into the room.

"Jayziz Chroist! What is all this?" The large man wore wrinkled bermudas, a sagging white tee shirt, and a baffled expression.

Callie said, "You must be Chaz."

"Chase, sweetheart. Did I wake up in the wrong house?"

The cameras were still going, but now they'd swung off David to greet the new player.

"You _filming_ in here? Not a porno, is it?"

David didn't know who this guy was, only that his dazed coolness and strange accent got the cameras and eyes off him.

Callie laughed. "Sorry we woke you."

Pretty much everyone in the room had their jaws down and their eyebrows up. David had not really thought about whose house it was. He had assumed it was Callie's, though looking around now, the _Family Guy_ poster above the couch, and the mixture of Chinese and Mexican style lamps and wall hangings had the tossed together look of his brother's apartment.

The tan TV guy smiled at the strange man. "So, Chaz, how long have you known, uh, Callie?"

"Who's Callie? And who might you be, standing in my sal-on, asking me questions?"

"Sorry. I'm the producer, Jock."

"They're just leaving," said Callie.

"Hold on. Not on my account. I mean, after all, I'm up now, so, carry on. Sorry about the attire. I'll just grab something from the fridge... ." He eased his way through the people and balloons with aplomb, as if all this was just another day at the house. He disappeared for a minute, and everyone in the living room muttered something to his or her neighbor.

David leaned over to Fiona. He had to know. "Why did you say I was the father?"

"You're not? Are you sure?"

" _Positive!_ " He hissed at her.

Chase appeared again, holding a plastic cup. "Oh, say, is that juice? Mind if I just..." He poured a healthy dollop into the cup.

"So Chase," said Jock. "Where're you from?"

"Brisbun."

"And how did you get to Phoenix?"

"Royal Australian Nyvy, Commodore." He gave a salute that seemed casual, but had a certain snap of authenticity. Casting a longing glance to the cake, he returned to the kitchen, leaving David amazed. To say the navy brought him to Phoenix was to say nothing at all. Because, hello, Phoenix is pretty far from an ocean. But no one else seemed to notice or care.

The party had broken down, with people milling around. All of Callie's friends were now edging toward the cameras, swishing their hair in little tosses, and pinching their jeans and tops unconsciously, pulling the up down and the tight loose. As soon as Chase reappeared, one of the cameras trained on him, and he broke into a grin.

Callie led David to a corner by the front door. "Why?" she jabbed a finger at him..

She was asking the wrong person, and Fiona had disappeared. "I had nothing to do..."

"How did you get a hold of Jock?"

He blinked back his surprise. "Get a hold of what?"

"The TV show." She pointed at the cameraman who was shooting into the kitchen, where some raucous laughter bubbled up.

"Why would I contact the TV show? Not to mention, how?"

She looked at him intently for a moment. "You're right."

David could see Callie's mother through the glass door out on the patio, talking to the gray-haired man. She did not look pleased. The Australian could be heard in the kitchen, going on with sparkling astonishment about the cake shaped like a diapered bottom.

Callie was also gazing at the scene. "Then why are you here?"

He looked around for Fiona but didn't see her. "Fiona invited me. Does she really think that I... it's just too weird. You and I hardly know each other." He bowed. "David Ross."

She smiled. Reluctantly, but she smiled. "I know why she invited you. She thinks I have or had a crush on you. But that doesn't explain why you came."

David felt warm. "I came because I was invited. I feel like I know you, even though we've hardly ever talked or anything. I think about you. I like your smile. When I get to see your smile, which isn't much."

"My smile's not much?"

" _Often!_ I don't see it often."

"And when you think about me, I know what that means."

"You do?"

"You mean you wonder why she had a baby, who's the father, how's she ever going to have a life with someone else after that."

David stepped in closer, forcing her to look up at him. "No. Not that. What I wonder is, who's Callie Scharf? In and of herself. That's all. It's plenty to keep me occupied."

## CHAPTER ELEVEN

Filming the baby shower was the crew's last task for the weekend. Jock had promised to drive Donna to the airport so she could spend a day and a half at home with her new husband. He did it to help her out, but also because he had something he needed to tell her. While he waited for the right moment they made small talk instead.

"Don't worry, we've got plenty of time," she said.

"At least the traffic's not bad." Jock flicked the steering wheel, and his black 350Z eased over a lane. "Sometimes Phoenix seems almost empty."

Donna chuckled. "I miss those jam-ups on the 405."

Jock glanced at her. With the hair pulled back from those Italianate cheeks, she slightly resembled his first wife. "So we got all the releases?"

"Yeah," she said. "All the girls, and the Australian. But you said you didn't want one from the kid. Zam?"

A red light caught Jock at Campbell, and he pulled up well behind an idling city bus, thinking the diesel soot could not be good for his car's finish. "No. I've got to make a special arrangement with him. He's Terry Major."

"He's who?"

"A production assistant." Jock took a breath and plunged ahead. "I didn't want to tell you, and I apologize. I wanted to keep you ignorant, and innocent, in case I got caught. Uh... Terry Major is a phantom. It's me. I turned in his salary and used the money for production expenses I couldn't pay for any other way."

"Sure." She curved the word for effect. "Production expenses. Or was it cocaine?"

"Yeah, right." Jock checked to make sure she was kidding.

"I'm jerkin' you." She laughed. "But you deserve it. A phantom intern? I knew something was going on."

The bus pulled ahead in a fumey roar, and Jock followed at a respectful distance. "Sorry. I hated to lie to you. I've shuffled money around on every job I've ever had charge of. Usually no one cares, but _Fat Chance_ is tight as a..." He left the sentence unfinished. "Just shifting funds from one pile to another. It's pocket change. Doesn't hurt anybody, and it was for the show."

"Or for your hookers!" Donna snickered, delighted at his embarrassment.

"All right, all right."

"Okay." She chortled. "No more. Yes, I know it was for the show."

"But Fletcher's on it like a cheap stink." Jock glanced at her as he drove. "I had to come up with a face, and I saw this kid hanging around, and he even got into some of the footage, always standing against the wall doing nothing. You know, like a real P.A."

He turned left, knowing he had to get to Twenty-Fourth Street to find the airport. "So I told Fletcher that was Terry Major."

"And then the kid comes to life this morning like Pinocchio and jumps right into the middle of a scene."

Jock had expected her to be angry or confused, but she seemed to be keeping up with him quite well. "And we have to have that scene. It's top ten out of a month's filming. But now the kid's going to have to disappear. I can't have him around anywhere Fletcher can find him."

"So what are you going to do? Kill him and dump the body? " She said it like a punch line, still having fun at his expense. Again, not unlike his ex-wife.

Jock saw the airport signs now. Southwest Airlines: Terminal Four. "I'll just pay him off. But not with money."

"Not with money, not with screen time. What're you going to give him?"

"A summer job as an intern. Next summer. You know..." Jock did his Sopranos voice. "You know, Tone. After dis whole t'ing blows ovah."

***

Michelle sipped her virgin mimosa. Boomer Sr. sat across from her, wearing a bright white shirt on the sunny patio. It was the first time she had seen him not in some kind of fireman uniform. She had forgotten her sunglasses, and the morning heat and glare made her squint.

The tables on the restaurant patio stood close together, and at every table, the brunchers were brunching furiously, enjoying themselves, their money, their place in the world. Michelle felt completely uncomfortable, her eyes squeezed almost shut against the glare of the sun, smile plastered on like Pla-Doh, clothes all wrong. She'd had new clothes once, before the divorce. She remembered them fondly.

The sun, moving to its zenith, inched the shadow of a nearby umbrella closer and closer. That would at least help shade her eyes. She leaned a little toward Boomer Sr. "When you said breakfast I assumed you meant Coco's or something. Not the freakin' Biltmore."

At the table next to them, the one with the umbrella, a man and a woman both glanced at her. They had two cute towheaded children at the table. Had Michelle burned the tots' ears with _freakin?_

"Ever been here?" He smiled. Michelangelo could have carved Boomer's jaw and neck. Hershey's could have painted his deep brown, patient eyes. If he noticed she was fat, dumpy, and badly dressed, he sure did a good job of hiding it.

"Ummm, no."

"How come your lawyer didn't bring you?"

"Please. I'm trying to eat." She grimaced. This Boomer had a way of cutting to the heart of things. Very unlike her lawyer-husband of yore.

Boomer laughed. Three or four silver hairs sparkled like stars in his bristly black goatee.

"This is nice," she said. "I wasn't expecting it." The shade of the umbrella finally reached her face, allowing Michelle to relax a little, and to appreciate where she was. Beyond the crowded patio lay satiny lawns and granite paths. Birds jibbered in manicured trees, and a light wash of clouds dappled the pale blue sky. On the table, strawberry crepes soaked in melting whipped cream, near the fluffy spinach frittata. She wasn't actually eating a lot of it, but that was hardly the point. "So nice."

He leaned toward her. "I guess there's a lot of pressure on you to lose weight, because of the show. Anyway, it's working, whatever you're doing. You look very good. Very... healthy."

"Actually..." Michelle stopped herself. She had been about to say, Actually, I haven't lost that much weight. What an idiot! Take the damn compliment! "Actually, the diet and exercise are great. The rest of it—pfffft! Let's just say I could live without it."

"If you feel guilty about eating, we can walk around the place a little, after." Gentle humor, so genuine, and easy-going. When she refused the champagne drink, which was free, he had done the same and not made a single thing of it.

"I guess if I feel guilty, it's about something else." Would a guy this nice ever believe what she had done?

He picked up a piece of perfectly toasted toast. "You said you were only still with Edoo... erd for the show?"

"Yeah, for the show." The question of the baby's fatherhood and conception hung in the air like the fragrance of the smoked salmon and pork cutlets. Which would be more likely to scare him off, telling the lie, or telling the truth? She could at least be honest about Edouard. That was easy. "We're over with, in personal terms. So being together on the show is almost like acting. But I'm no actress. I don't know how it's going to work out."

"It's got to be crazy."

Michelle took a bite of the frittata, which actually melted in her mouth. "Yeah, it's crazy. You fall into a role, or they push you into one. I'm not sure which. Edoo's a nice guy, and all. We work together well, but that's as far as it can go."

He leaned toward her and murmured in his cool baritone. "And then you have a... right in the middle of it."

"Yeah." Very soon, she would have to decide whether, how, and how much to explain her situation to him. Was it at all possible that he would understand? "There's something I want to tell you about that."

He smiled. "You don't have to tell me anything."

This man was too good! "Maybe later."

"Right." Boomer touched the back of her hand with a finger. "Anyway, it's good to see you."

"Yes, good to see me right side up." The joke came out of her mouth so fast, and it was so inappropriate for the setting, that it stunned Michelle. A tiny whoop burst out of her like a hysterical exclamation point. She glanced at the woman from the next table, who was definitely blushing. "Sorry," Michelle said to the woman, who did not look at her. "It's not what it..." To Boomer she whispered. "I'm really not like this." She giggled. An unexplained giddiness had taken her over like an allergy attack. " _You_ know what I mean."

He smiled, clearly unconcerned about anyone around them.

Looking for a topic, Michelle said, "So your wife was also a firefighter?"

"Yeah. Like on that TV show."

"Which one?"

His eyes crinkled merrily. "You know, with the fireman and the firewoman who fall in love but it never works out."

"Oh. That one." Michelle laughed, but she could feel reality creeping back up on her burst of joy. "Divorced five years," he said. To him it was a cold fact, long dead.

She couldn't pretend she felt the same way about her failed marriage. "One year."

"How's it going?"

The simple question unexpectedly overwhelmed Michelle. Her past was blackness, her present a lie. "Do the math. A one night stand, a fatherless child, whoring myself to reality fucking television."

She didn't bother looking at the people sitting next to them. They'd heard it all. The question was, why had she said it? Michelle grabbed Boomer's hand. "I have to go, you know..." She just wanted to be somewhere where she could stop embarrassing herself for a few minutes.

She stood and squeezed into an aisle, and walked off the patio and out through the restaurant, feeling every yuppie eye on her, and every busboy eye. Passing through the quiet hotel lobby, she emerged onto the cool granite veranda on the north side of the building, which looked out on another immaculate lawn and the first courtyard of hotel rooms.

Michelle trembled with fear, rage, and regret. What a house of straw she'd built!

Boomer emerged from the lobby, a serious look on his face. "So it's not going well."

He seemed to have a bottomless well of that dry, gentle humor.

"I'm sorry about that scene. My daughter says I have postpartum depression. And maybe she's right." Michelle raised her chin, and kept her voice low and calm. "In case you were wondering, and everyone is, Edouard is not the baby's father. One night. Last winter. Someone else. Lonely and desperate, I gave in to temptation. Even though I could see the lie in the man's face. And it's just been one lie after another since then."

She sat on the arm of a big wooden patio chair. In front of them, a caramel-colored toddler rolled a pink inflated ball on the grass toward his smiling father. The simplicity of the scene twisted something deep in her chest. "Sometimes I feel like I'm at the bottom of the ocean. In a very cold, dark place."

Boomer placed a hand on her shoulder, light as a scarf. "We all do things—"

"—no, this is different!" Now Michelle could let go of her emotions, but in a decorous way, because this was still the Biltmore. She arose and walked out into the sun, down the sidewalk, out across the lawn, past the child and father. Boomer strolled easily beside her. She spoke straight ahead because she did not want to see his reaction. His disgust with her. "I told myself it was Edouard's baby. But I hid the pregnancy from everybody, even Edouard. I don't know why I did that, but it was easy because of my weight. And because I didn't trust Edouard to be my husband or the father of my child."

They passed under a stand of eucalyptus trees, as tall as canyon walls. "I got on the show under false pretenses to please Edouard. Then when the baby was born, I passed it off as my daughter's, which we are still doing. Even this brunch was a lie. I came here to convince you, or silence you, or charm you into silence. Because you and your crew are the only ones who know the truth besides my daughter, my mom, Edouard, and Callie's friend."

"You were going to charm me, eh?"

"Yeah, who wouldn't be charmed by _this_?" Michelle swept her hand down the length of her body, as if showing off a refrigerator on a TV game show.

The walkway took them past the granite buildings of the hotel, and they entered into a deserted pool area, where rows of deck lounges stood lined up precisely in the noontime sun.

Michelle turned toward him, shading her eyes with her hand. "So that's my story. Pretty pathetic."

Boomer stepped close, embracing her gently, his square shoulders shading her from the sun. She sagged against him, grateful for the unexpected comfort.

"I don't think it's pathetic," he murmured, "highly creative, maybe. I'd point out that a lot of woman would have just said to Edouard, hell with it, it's your baby. Let's get married."

Michelle shrugged.

"Maybe you don't get to watch enough daytime TV, like I do." His hand rested on her upper back. "That's a whole genre there. Who da daddy. And the people treat it like a game. Does Edouard have a job?"

"Yeah."

"Do you?"

"No. Except the show, and that's highly temporary." Why did he care?

"So by marrying him, I'm guessing, if nothing else, you would have had a health plan to get you through the pregnancy and birth."

A quick breeze rippled the sparkling pool.

"But I was willing to do that. I almost did it. I was this close."

"But you didn't, did you?"

She sighed. "No. But the lies I told. I'm ashamed. I'm very ashamed. But now it's over. Something happened yesterday that convinced me that I have to stop all of it. And my meltdown just now. That cinches it. I thought I could compartmentalize, I could keep the TV show out of my private life, but it's impossible. And I can't live a lie. So, I guess this could be my last brunch. So to speak."

"What's going to happen?"

"I'll be off the show in the sense that I can't win anything. But they have all this tape of me that they will probably use. It'll make me look like a selfish, lying, scheming, fame-hungry bitch. Which I guess is all true except the fame hunger. I don't care. It'll be hard on my daughter."

"That's some tough choice."

Michelle braced against him, standing straight. "Yes, but it's the bed I made. Maybe it'll be like that movie."

His lips curved into a smile. "What movie?"

"The one where the woman decides to do the right thing for the baby's sake, but you don't know if they will end up happy, but it looks like they might."

"Yeah, I think I saw that." He laughed. His deep brown eyes took it all in, all of her, bad and good, and did not stir or waver. "What's his name, anyway?"

Panic seized Michelle. "Gerald. His name is Gerald." She took a calming breath. No more lies, no matter how convenient. "But you'll never guess his nickname."

***

Callie sat in the kitchen. She hadn't snorgcast anything since the party. Out of fear, embarrassment, doubt, or whatever. What-ev-er.

**THE BOOMERUMOR** _a blog on the cute life_ **.**

**Weblogs and Social Networking from Blogomatic Universe ®**

My friends are awesome!!!

Callie wants to thank every one who attended the shower. She promises to post the gifts ASAP. Your generosity on behalf of Baby Boomer (let's forget about "Gerald") and I as his mother is deeply appreciated and will never be forgotten.

**FionaCl 7:17 pm:** I know one part I would like to forget.

**Boomerumor Blog 7:20 pm:** Not me!!! I mean it. all my friends are amazing. ! x 8.

**Misss Krissstal 7:29 pm:** Who gave Zam steroid? He's all, I'm the man we all know the truth.

**Boomerumor Blog 7:37 pm:** I thought maybe it just seemed that way to me. Was it so obvious to anyone else?

**FionaCl 7:39 pm:** obvious beyond obviousness.

**BunnyLove 7:41 pm:** If I'm going to be filmed again, I want it to be by red tee shirt guy.

**Misss Krissstal 8:01 pm:** hez a cutie.

**Fiona Cl 8:10 pm:** Z is all, ohhh, I'll release the secret documents,

**Boomerumor blog 8:12 pm:** About whom are we speaking?

**Misss Krissstal 8:20 pm:** gdmit you put up with a lot. on the sympathy scale, you rate President's Widow.

Callie signed off. Thank God for being able to speak without being seen, because she was barely holding it together. She stared at the dark glass of the patio door, trying to force away the tremble in her spine. If Zam followed through on his implicit—except it had been pretty explicit—threat to blow the whistle on her, or if her mother followed through on her decision to tell the truth, Callie did not think she could ever go back to school. Because she was obviously the most... _simple?... shallow?...'orrid!_ person ever! Just an Oik from Pia Oik.

In the living room, her mom had the TV on too loud. The kitchen around Callie smelled strongly of overripe bananas and 409 cleaner. The refrigerator whirred behind her. She had wanted this drama, all of it, knowing that sooner or later, someone wouldn't believe her.

But how could she expect other people to believe in her, if she didn't believe in herself? She stared at the face and form in the dark glass, slumped over and hopeless. No, that wouldn't do. She stiffened her back and squared her shoulders. Booms was her child _today_ , and she was going to make him proud of her, and what she had done for the family. And make no mistake, she had saved him, and the family. They were united over Booms and under God, and they would face what they had to face, together. High school might be rough, but that was only two more years, really. Then the family, the three of them, could move somewhere nice and be a normal divorced family, and Callie could be an exceptional big sister.

## IV. ONE AFTERNOON

## CHAPTER TWELVE

Michelle sat in the murky quiet of the editing room and stared at the image of herself, her lips inches from a microphone.

"Once more." The sound editor raised a finger. "Ready?"

It was only the soundman, his assistant, and Michelle, late in the afternoon in the production suite at Sixteenth Street. She was looping her dialogue for scenes that Jock wanted for the keeper reel, whatever that was. Watching herself on a screen, and then saying what she said in the scene, to make sure the dialogue came through clearly. It didn't have to be perfect, because all the sounds went into a digital library. Or so she understood. More or less.

The sound editor was a new member of the crew, a painfully sincere and empathetic young man with a thin beard and thick eyebrows. Jock had gone off somewhere in a rush. The longer the show went on, the more he seemed to be going everywhere in a rush.

Michelle nodded at the sound guy. On the cue, she said, "Do we have to go tonight?" in a whiny voice. The scene on the film was from two days before Halloween, when Edouard's PETA chapter held their Hallowegan party, which Michelle wasn't crazy about, but ended up going to anyway. As she spoke the line, her image on the screen said the same thing. She had done the same line six times or so, as exactly the same as she could make them.

"Good job." The sound editor twinkled with mellow humor. "Now you can take a break. But hurry back."

She turned and walked outside, leaving her frozen face on the screen of the monitor, a perfect statement of her divided self. All weekend Michelle had told herself she would quit the show. Because it was wrong, because it was leading Callie astray, because the stress of leading a double life just led to bad decisions and inappropriate outbursts. Because every time she turned on a television, there was some middle-aged moron making an irredeemable fool of herself on a reality show.

Yet here she was, on Monday afternoon, having to call her daughter and tell her she would be late for dinner, again, instead of where she wanted to be, at home with Callie and Booms. She was just afraid to decide. So Callie could heat up the eggplant parmesan in the fridge. At three hundred and fifty degrees—or maybe four hundred—it was pretty massive.

The tree-shaded patio of the office park was probably once a haven for smokers. Now you came here to make personal phone calls. Before she could dial, the phone chimed in Michelle's hand. Seeing CARING ADOPTION on the caller ID scared and angered her. Why the adoption lady was calling, Michelle did not know, but it could only be a complication in her already twisted life.

She sat on the rough, pebbly concrete edge of a planter full of bushes. Taking a breath of strength, she punched the call up and said hello.

"Hi there, this is Marie Montt from—"

"Yes. You're probably wondering what happened to me?"

"I last spoke to you, what, six weeks ago? You said your due date was around October first? Did everything go all right?"

"Yes, everything was great. But I've made a definite decision not to go with adoption."

"So you'll be keeping the child?"

Michelle made an effort to cool her annoyance. "Yes."

"Boy, I wish I'd known that." The lady's tone carried hints of enticement mixed with disapproval. "We've got a wonderful couple interested. Do you have adequate means of support now? I remember, before, income and health insurance were issues for you."

Those words struck a deep chord within Michelle, roiling up intense sorrow and fear. Suddenly she was reliving her dilemma about giving up the baby for adoption. Back when he was _the baby_ but not yet Boomer. "My decision is final." A sharp thorn from a bush behind her poked Michelle in the back and she jumped. "I have a job, and everything necessary."

"What does Gerald's father say about all this?" The woman's voice was sweet poison.

"Nothing." Michelle rubbed her back but couldn't reach the sting. "He's not involved and I make no claim."

"But does he make a claim? Has he been informed?"

"Of course!" But of course that wasn't true. Michelle remained confident no one would find the man. Unless he knocked on her door some cold, dark night.

But he wouldn't do that. He couldn't.

"Good," said Marie. "Are you willing to provide his name?"

"He couldn't. I mean I couldn't."

"Sure," said the adoption lady. "I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable doing. Is the baby in daycare already? Cuz you said you were working."

Michelle remembered the woman's sweetie pie expression, and cute name, Marie Montt. But she hadn't seen the bulldozer single-mindedness. "His care is excellent. I have to go..."

"Working late again?"

Michelle snapped off her phone. If there were six ways to make her feel like an inadequate, neglectful parent, and even a criminal, Marie the adoption lady had touched them all.

And they all touched on why she was here today working. After the fiasco at the baby shower, Michelle had told Callie, and Edouard, and even Boomer Sr. that she would quit the show. But last night, playing pickup sticks in her head instead of sleeping, she had realized that even though she had saved a lot of her _Fat Chance_ per diems, it would be difficult to last through the end of the year, even throwing in Callie's child support. So she had come in today, uncertain of what would come after that.

This call only confirmed that she was in trouble either way. If someone—be it an adoption agency, the state, county, _Fat Chance_ , or whoever—found out about them calling Callie the mother, it seemed like Michelle's unfitness would be an open and shut case. But if she lost her income, it was shut and lock. Where would she find a job in the middle of a depression? She had searched newspapers and websites for months, and it was sickening how little she was qualified to do. Her only work experience since college—apart from a few weeks work on the census this summer— was the two years in customer service at Parcel Express which had begun when Craig moved out, and ended in the post-Christmas layoff last December. That fateful December.

Or she could keep the job she had—job in quotes—as a trained chimp on reality television—reality in quotes. But she knew that now that Jock had zeroed in on Callie the teen mother, he was going to want to show that part of their lives, exposing her and her daughter to ridicule and shame for a lie that would probably be found out, leading to even more ridicule and shame. Michelle did not think she could take that. And she was sure Callie couldn't.

***

Jock stared out at the Avis Lube across the street. No matter how hip this coffee place tried to be, with the acrylic paintings on the walls and the pierced customers and the antique shop next door, it couldn't escape its location across the street from an Avis Lube, a fried chicken stand, and a boarded store. It was on Indian School Road somewhere near the middle of Phoenix, but it might as well have been Rosecrans, or Bellflower Boulevard, or another of the pointless, endless boulevards that stretched across Jock's hometown through their own endless storefronts and franchise businesses.

Jock had come here because Edouard insisted on meeting him, alone and soon, and suggested the place. Except now they sat here, Edouard had nothing to say. Jock bought an iced green tea for himself and a latte for Edouard.

Edouard's darting eyes and puffy, sallow face reflected a suspicion that Jock had somehow managed to hide a camera in the bookshelf, or behind the rugala jars on the counter. "So Michelle's at the studio?"

"Yeah. We need to get you in there, too."

"I have to juggle that with work. I'm almost out of vacation time. My office is right over there." A vague flip of his hand indicated somewhere north or maybe east.

"We'll work with you." Jock was used to special pleading from contestants, and he had a firm policy of squashing it. "We never encourage contestants to quit, because, you know..."

"Right, nothing's guaranteed. Don't quit your day job. Literally." Edouard roused himself. "But I want to win, or at least be one of the finalists." He tapped the table. "And get that hundred grrr."

Jock nodded. Edouard was referring to the $100,000 prize won by each pair of finalists. The ultimate winners could take home another $250,000 to $500,000. "But remember, we don't start eliminating until the show is on the air."

"I know, February. Boy, that's a long ways off." Edouard slumped, seemingly overwhelmed by the weight of waiting another several months for a payday.

Jock understood. The grind was getting to them all. "You're going to have a lull pretty soon. About six more busy weeks of filming, to around Thanksgiving. Then you'll have a month off, at least. So what's on your mind today? I've got a meeting to get to."

Edouard winced as if he had gas pains. "She can't know I am here. Michelle is having some family problems. And I'm afraid I'm the cause of them."

"Really?" Jock couldn't keep the flatness out of his voice. This was his big announcement? Michelle's family problems, particularly those involving Edouard, were what kept them on the show. If just barely. They had a timid blandness to them—both the family and the problems. So why had Edouard insisted on the secret meeting?

"And it's partly your fault, too." Edouard sipped his latte primly. A dab of milk foam remained on his upper lip when he set the cup down. "You pushed her too far by springing that baby shower surprise on her."

"Well, we were invited— not by Michelle— it's true. But the baby's father, and he led us to believe the daughter, I mean the mother, wanted us there. Turns out that was a bit of a fib." A fib Jock had not worked too hard to uncover.

"By the baby's father, you mean who? Zam?"

"Yes. Are you saying he's not the father? There seemed to be some controversy about that."

"He's not the father." Edouard made a sour face. "And anyway, what does Callie's baby have to do with Michelle and me? The show is supposed to be about the two of us, and Michelle's been very careful about keeping her family out."

The guy seemed to be suffering from premature ego enhancement, a fairly typical disease for reality show schlubs. Jock did his best to explain. "Well, having a teenage mother for a daughter could impact her happiness, or rather her unhappiness. And therefore it has an effect on her relationship with you."

"There's only one problem." Edouard paused and scratched his pink cheek. "It's all a pack of lies."

"In what way?"

Edouard lowered his head and leaned toward Jock. "In confidence. I really need your word you won't spill the beans."

Jock gave Edouard his most reassuring and confident smile. "Have you ever heard a word of gossip from my lips about the other contestants?"

"No."

"I have to be the priest. I have to know people's problems and failures, but I never tell."

Edouard grunted. And then he spilled.

"Michelle had the baby? Your baby?" Jock felt like he was falling in love. These two dull lumps sitting on this story. His heart fluttered pleasantly. And he had suspected nothing—well, he had suspected many things about his contestants, but he'd missed this one. "And she tried to hide it from us?"

"She tried," Edouard nodded. "And I think she succeeded. She even hid it from me, for a long time."

"Why'd she hide it from you?"

"Our troubles. I'm not proud of how I treated her."

"I guess the first thing I say is congratulations." As Jock spoke, he was already thinking of ways to rearrange the week's shooting schedule. "The second thing is, this could be great for the two of you on the show. It's like a reality show banana cream pie in the face. Shocking but tasty. I mean, I have to be impartial, but this can't hurt your chances."

"Except she's going to quit the show, because you couldn't stay away from her daughter."

Oh no. That couldn't be allowed to happen. "But this is a better story, and it's true, and it's about you and her. Perfect."

Edouard peered at him with petulant eyes. "But how's it going to look, that she tried to foist the baby off as her daughter's. That's like bad soap opera."

"There's nothing wrong with bad soap opera," said Jock, only slightly offended. "The daughter can disappear. She's dead to me. What's her name again?"

"Callie."

"In fact, Michelle should be happy. This puts the focus squarely on the two of you. And the baby, of course."

Edouard leaned toward him again. "I want to stay on the show. But we have to figure out a way to convince her. And she cannot know that I told you. Because if she finds out, she'll skin me." His eyes showed real fear. "I mean, literally."

***

Callie was in the kitchen getting dinner ready when the phone rang. She didn't usually answer the home phone anymore. For something important they'd leave a message. But the caller screen said it was some adoption agency, and she wondered what in the Hull House an adoption agency was calling them for.

A lively voice gave her a name, which Callie immediately forgot. Then the woman said something that made her quiver. "Are you the sister?"

"The sister of who?"

"Gerald?"

This was a true dilemma. Her fake adoption of Booms required a complete separation of school and home because Michelle still had to deal with doctors and so forth. Most of the time it was not too difficult, but it kept Callie on her toes. This seemed to be a person to whom she should not lie, but tell as little of the actual truth as possible.

"Who wants to know?" Callie pulled the eggplant dish out of the refrigerator. It was almost too heavy for one hand.

"I'm from the adoption agency. I'd like to speak to Michelle."

Callie set down the dish. Was her mom planning to give Booms up for adoption? Or had someone blown the whistle on them? Like Zam. Or Edouard. She needed to find out as much as she could. "My mom just called. She's going to be late."

"Oh, that's unfortunate."

"Yes."

"Well, all right," said the voice. "I'll try again sometime. So how is everything with you guys?"

The overly friendly tone gave Callie an unpleasant needly feeling on her neck and back. "We are fine. But I don't think this is a good time for my mom to be adopting a child."

As Callie had hoped, the voice laughed at her childish bafflement.

"Oh, dear, I would think not."

"My mom is a very good mom, and we're really doing well." Callie said it as sweetly as she could manage. She'd grown a little out of practice on the good-little-girl bit. "I take care of the baby a lot, even though I'm not experienced, of course. And my grandma is here almost every day. We are doin' well, I must say. I'm even taking a child development class at school. Sometimes my grandma brings him over when I'm there."

"To the school?"

"Yeah, to play with the other babies." Callie wanted to explain that, in case this lady had been checking up on her. She could play it either way, depending on what the lady said next.

She said, "It's wonderful that they let you do that."

That seemed pretty safe. "Yeah."

"Your mother's working a lot?"

"Oh, not really. It's spotty." Callie turned the oven dial to 350. "But when she needs to go, grandma's always there. So we're doing fine. Nothing for anybody to be concerned about."

"That's good to hear."

"How do you know my mom?"

"Since you're her daughter, I can tell you. She considered giving the baby up for adoption. I'm just trying to follow up. What would you think of that?"

"Oh, god no! That would be terrible for all of us. No, we are keeping this baby. It would be terrible if someone were to take him or something."

"Who would ever take him? Your father?"

Callie laughed. What was she saying? "No, that's silly. My father is not Boomer's father. He lives up in Showlow with his friend."

Static crackled in her ear, and the lady came back on. "Who did you say? Gomer? Are you talking about Gerald?"

The longer this conversation went on, the more suspicious it seemed. Despite what this lady said, was her mother actually considering giving up the baby for adoption? Callie had seen the fitful bouts of depression and worry, and Callie's foolish, so selfish fiasco of a baby shower had only made her mother's mood worse. Or was the father making a move—whoever he was?

"You call the baby Gomer?" the voice prompted.

Maybe if the name were hideous enough the lady would go away. "Yes, Gomer. Sometimes we call him Gomer." Callie had called him that twice now, so that qualified as sometimes.

"What does your mom's boyfriend think of that name?"

"She doesn't have a boyfriend." Every question could be a trap. Would it be better if Edouard were in the picture? Callie didn't see how. "There's a man she hangs around with, she works with on the TV show. He used to be her boyfriend last year."

"Last year?" said the voice. "Last winter? Are you speaking of, of..."

"Edouard."

"Yes, exactly, Edouard. How does Edouard feel about your mother keeping the baby all to herself?"

Callie forced herself to laugh. "To tell you the truth, Edouard could care less. He doesn't like kids. He likes dogs." Perhaps she should push him further out of the picture. "In case you are wondering, Edouard is not Gerald's, or Gomer's father. There may be a lot of men who it could be, but it's definitely not Edouard."

The lady said goodbye. Too late, Callie realized her last sentence didn't come out the way she intended. Definitely not. It could be seen as an admission that her mother slept with gobs of men. That was not a horrible thing, just an untrue one.

Bollocks!

***

Zam got the voicemail from Jock, asking to meet him in private. By text he set up a meeting at Encanto Park. It was remote, almost downtown, and very old. And it had a cinematic quality. Zam assumed that Jock wanted to talk to him about having a bigger role on the show.

His debut at the baby shower had gone pretty well, he figured, at least until that crazy sailor woke up. Until now he had been merely a walk-on as Callie's anonymous date or friend. But if Callie and her baby were going to be a larger part of the show, there would have to be a father—a caring, clear-headed, cool young man who both protected Callie and made her laugh: in other words, himself.

It was late Monday afternoon of a school day, not many people about. From the parking lot, Zam walked past empty tennis courts and a basketball court where a couple of chunky young men stood talking while one of them dribbled a ball. The kiddie land was closed, but as Zam passed he could see the old-fashioned merry-go-round with its wild-eyed enameled horses.

Zam had asked Jock to meet him at the boathouse. The boat rental office was locked up for the night, and the canoes and paddleboats bumped against each other quietly. Ducks sat parked under a baby palm tree on the bank of the lagoon. Cinematic as hell! You never knew when Jock would have a camera following him, and Zam wanted to make an impression. But he also wanted to make sure no one he knew saw him. If either Callie, or especially Michelle, found out his plan, they would freeze him out before he ever got going.

Jock came down the ramp to the dock, that phony Hollywood schmoozer smile on his face. Trying hard not to be seen doing it, Zam was checking every baby palm tree and restroom corner for sneaky cameramen. Jock didn't seem to be wearing a lapel cam or anything like that.

"Good," Jock said, glancing around. "I never knew there was a park down here."

"I used to come when I was a kid."

Jock gave him an amused look. "Your stunt almost cost Michelle and Callie a lot of money. And Ed."

"My stunt?" Zam refused to be intimidated.

"You told me Callie wanted us there."

"No. I said she wanted to have a shower." Zam leaned on the steel pipe railing of the dock. "You said you had plans for Mrs. Scharf on Saturday. I really didn't expect you to show up."

A few ducks floated over to see if the two humans on the dock by the paddleboats would be producing some bread or popcorn. Zam didn't have anything to offer but Altoid mints. That probably wouldn't be a good idea.

Jock spread his arms and smiled. "No, I thought it was pretty clear, but, the point is, because of the mistake, my mistake let's call it, I'm in a delicate situation with Michelle now. She really gave me what for. There's to be no more video of her daughter, or the baby, or any of that. We're concentrating on Michelle and Edouard."

Zam didn't get it. "Without Callie and the baby, Mrs. Scharf and Edoo are just another blobby couple of old people. As the baby's father, I can smooth things over with Callie and Michelle."

"We're taking a different approach with them. We'll work it out."

Zam took a slow breath, hoping to hide his shock. "You had to meet me to tell me this? To buzz off? Doesn't make much sense."

Jock chuckled. "Well, I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings. I know you've been helping out the crew. But it'd be better if you stay away."

"Why?" This wasn't going according to plan. Not at all.

"I kept you around to support Callie. But in truth, for insurance reasons, I can't have anyone at a shoot who isn't part of the crew."

"So you're just going to ignore that Callie had a baby?"

"Well, I know now that Callie did not have the baby. Michelle did."

Someone had been talking. Or was this guy just guessing? "Who says?"

Jock smirked, superiorly. "Edouard told me what happened."

"And he probably told you that he is the father."

"Naturally."

"He's either stupid or lying or both." Zam whacked the hand railing. Bleeping Edouard. Who else would screw things up so badly?

But Zam was not ready to back down. No matter what Callie thought of him—and since the shower he guessed that was not much—he had promised her that he would keep her secret, and he was determined to honor that commitment, no matter how badly he had to slander her reputation to do it. He had put forth his fatherhood solely to end the speculation that only made Callie look bad. "Edoo-erd was not at the birth, I was. You can ask Callie about that. Or her mom. What male is usually present when a baby is born, besides the doctor? Right? And if I'm the father, then Callie must be the mother."

He saw a flash of doubt in the older man's eyes.

"I want to be on the show, one way or another, and I can help you get what you want. I think you're stupid not to feature Callie and me. But whatever. Point is, I can help you get what you need from them, because I have an in with them. And the in is that I really am the father."

The only thing that could go wrong with this lie would be if Michelle had told Jock the truth. The producer stared down at the ducks, rubbing his jaw as if feeling his shave. The fat birds, uncomfortable under his phony Hollywood schmoozer gaze, floated under the dock and came out the other side. "I don't get you."

Anger flared in Zam. "There's nothing to get. It's real simple."

"No," said Jock. "You act like you really care for Callie, then you want to sabotage her."

"I am protecting her." Why didn't anyone get this? "If people are questioning me, they're not questioning her. I'm the lightning rod to defuse the prying eyes."

"All right," said Jock. "I can keep you on the crew. But only under special conditions."

Zam was exuberant. "What conditions?"

"I can't pay you. I'll give you paychecks, but they won't be any good. And you'll have to give them back to me." Jock smiled.

The more teeth he showed, the more suspicious Zam became. "That blows."

"You want to be on it or not? See, if I pay you, they could get me under the child labor laws."

Zam shrugged. At least he was on the crew.

"And you're working under a different name."

Zam wanted to laugh. "What name?"

"You only answer to the name Terry Major."

" _Terry Major?_ Who the heck is that?"

"From now on, that's you. And you can't tell anyone else about it. If you do we never had this conversation and I'll prove you've been lying all along."

"But what about the people on the crew? They know I'm not Terry Whatever."

"No, they don't. Most of them barely know you exist."

"What about Callie? And her mom? And Javier knows my name. So does Leigh."

"They called you Sam because that's your nickname. I'll explain it. They'll understand. Fantastic Sam because you're a fantastic kid." He reached out and grabbed Zam around the neck, corralled him, and rubbed the top of his head. "Because you're a fantastic kid."

Zam pulled away. Where did this guy get off? He briefly considered that he could kill the guy with his jackknife and shove the body under the dock. They wouldn't find him for days. Then Zam could do whatever he wanted. For days. After that, not so much.

But he'd left his jackknife in the car.

## CHAPTER THIRTEEN

David walked Julie home in the late afternoon shadows, through the dull residential neighborhood where they both lived. Crap had been flying all over the schoolosphere about Callie's shower. Julie hadn't wanted him to go, and she couldn't believe he went alone. So spending time with her this afternoon was pretty much required.

The netwanking about the affair mostly concentrated on the film crew and the Aussie who looked like Sam Worthington but talked like a certain lizard from car- insurance commercials. And of course, the inevitable follow-up, who the fnork is Sam Worthington, and the inevitable repost, _Avatar_ , hello? And then the rerepost, saying hello after every statement is so millennial.

But Julie was cheesed off that the whole thing ever happened. With every posting and facespace and bobble-headed Web warble her cheese rose and puffed. So he walked home with her.

"You're awfully moody today." She spoke in that birdie singsong he knew was trouble.

"No, I'm not. "

"Every time someone mentions Callie Scharf you just..."

"No, I don't. Stop analyzing me like some kind of psychological... trash compactor." David did not want to hear about Callie and her all-consuming baby. He did not want to think about her. Because there was no resolution. No answer. Should he condemn her for being an irresponsible sex-having teenager, or admire her for taking responsibility for her actions?

"A psychological what?" Singsong.

"I don't know." He shrugged in irritation.

"See what I mean?" Her arms flapped out.

They passed the house of a guy from school. He had a half-pipe in his front yard. A few neighborhood kids had gathered, and some of them called teasingly to David. He rolled back and forth a few times on the guy's skateboard, but he felt unstable, and unwilling to fall on his ass, which was after all what they were waiting for, and from Julie's expression, what he deserved.

Julie and David walked on. The houses of the neighborhood were old, and large, the way parents' houses used to be when they weren't getting divorced all the time, or foreclosed. A runaway lawn sprinkler was watering half the street and they moved to the other side. A car went by. An old man with a collie on a leash stood on the corner, staring up at the top of a palm tree where a couple of wild parrots screeched. The old man was staring, not the collie.

Julie said, "The funny thing about that baby shower..."

David did not understand why she kept bringing up Callie Scharf. "Why do you keep bringing her up?"

"Because you keep mooning about her." She stopped and pinched his sleeve. "Because you have illusions of virtue about her. Well, congratulations. She never had a baby."

"What?"

"Her family adopted a baby. And let Callie raise it. Like some kind of social experiment. The boring kind, like on public television. That whole family must be nuts."

David turned, ready to walk on. Why would someone engage in such an elaborate hoax? It made no sense. "That's weird."

"Are you kidding me?" Her voice rose annoyingly into the late afternoon shade. "It's sick!"

"How do you know?"

"Know it's sick?" She flounced up on her toes. "Being an _adoptive_ teenage unwed mother? How irresponsible can you get?"

"I mean how do you know they adopted a baby?"

"I don't know. But it's out there. Maybe she told one of the other mothers in that day care center they all go to."

She turned to walk on, but David just stood there. "But she was pregnant, wasn't she?"

"How do you know?" Her blue eyes flashed suspicion. "I didn't see her all summer. Did you? At least now no one will accuse you of having sex with her."

There it was again. The accusation. "Good, because I didn't."

"Fiona thinks you did," she said. "Now everybody does."

"No one paid attention to that. Besides, you said the baby was adopted."

"Well, you can have sex _without_ having a baby."

"I wouldn't know." So this wasn't about the baby.

"And you can have a baby without having sex, by adopting."

"Who started this rumor?"

"I don't care!" She shrugged dramatically. "Are we going to walk or just stand here all night?"

So they walked. After three steps she said, "As long as people aren't saying you fishozzled Callie Scharf! I'm trying to protect you. Everyone who was there said you were the father."

David stopped, totally exasperated. "But I'm not and I don't need protection!"

"If you have sex without protection, you can be-father a baby." She spoke to him like he was a little child. "And if you are accused of that, you need protection, or everyone thinks you are the father. And if they think that, then you might as well be."

"The father?"

"Yes!"

"You shouldn't spread false dirt."

"I'm not so sure it's not true dirt. The way you moon over her, I wonder." She took a theatrical tone. "After all, one hardly knew you in those long, cold nights of last—December, wasn't it?"

"I gotta go home now," he said. They were still half a block from her house.

With a venomous glare, she turned and left him. Instead of leaving, he dawdled behind until he saw her enter the porch of the family's house and go in the front door.

He turned to go home. That pretty much made it official: everyone in his life was now hacked off at him. He felt battered.

David saw something noble and secret in Callie that no one else seemed to see. He knew she was protecting someone, and he wanted to give her credit for that sacrifice. But who was she protecting and why?

This thing about adopting a baby, it was just too fantastic to believe. But if it was true it solved one problem. He never cared about the baby, it just stuck in his craw that she had given up her body to Zam, or Mr. Diazbo, the English teacher—that was one of the less believable rumors—or someone. Just gave it up, as if her body and soul and hair and mouth and tits and legs and snatch were things of no importance! To David, the body and soul and snatch of every young girl were of supreme importance. Well not every young girl. Callie Scharf more than most. He couldn't explain why. It was just a feeling he had.

But what if she never gave it up? Then how would he feel? He passed the man with the collie. The man was now bent half over, staring at something on the ground. The collie stared at David, and he knew what it wanted to say.

"Okay," he growled. "So I'm _mooning_ over her. So what!"

The man looked up, the dog looked away. David walked on.

***

As Michelle was walking out of the Sixteenth Street building, Jock burst in, and pulled her back inside, to an airless, half-lit office in the corner. The intensity in his look frightened her. Michelle had been overweight long enough to discount that he was about to sexually harass her, so it could only be some kind of bad news about the show. She tried to change the subject before it came up.

"That sound guy is nice," she ventured. As if Jock ever talked to her about the crew. "Seems to know what he's doing."

"Just the first of many new people, we hope." He cleared his throat exaggeratedly. "Sit down. Please."

Rather than an office, it seemed more like a place to store excess furniture. Desks, file cabinets, and a half dozen eighties-era barrel chairs were pushed together, with barely room to walk in. Michelle sat in the barrel chair near the door, but the cushion sank beneath her like a leaky beach ball. It was all she could manage to lever herself up and perch on the front edge of the chair. She wedged her purse between her hip and the chair arm. That seemed to help the stability.

Jock sat in the identical chair next to her, but annoyingly, showed no sign of sinking in as he leaned back and crossed his legs jauntily. He had socks on today. He didn't always have socks.

He said, "I want to shoot straight with you."

"Okay." Here it came. Michelle prepared herself so she wouldn't flinch. "You usually do."

Jock bent his neck from left to right, rolling his head. But his eyes never left hers. "You made it very clear that we were not to involve Callie and the baby in the show. And that's fine. I want you to continue on the show. And Edouard. But you have to shoot straight with me, too. You haven't been honest with us."

The crisis had arrived, like a sudden spank of breeze that blows away your hat. Or a baby who's decided he's coming into the world, no matter what the world thinks. She stared down at her crossed thumbs. "Okay."

Jock did not move, nor did his terrier attention waver. "Tell me about the baby."

"My daughter didn't have him. I did." The room was so silent Michelle heard the muffled sound of traffic from the street. "Just before filming started. I hid it from you. I don't know why. Lots of reasons that seem trivial now."

"And you think I'm surprised."

"I should have known." She glanced up into his tan, smooth, stern face. Of course he knew. "But when I signed the contract back in March, I didn't know yet. And then the show was canceled, and I was pretty much home alone all summer..."

"I'm sure you fooled almost everyone else. I'm amazed you pulled it off as well as you did." Jock patted her knee. "I haven't said anything to anyone on the show. But I'm disappointed you didn't confide in me or Donna. We're not judgmental here. We take care of one another."

"You didn't take care of me at the baby shower."

"It was a misunderstanding. We were there, you were there, and you know me... the default is always, _roll tape_ , as we used to say. Anyway, that's yesterday's news." He flashed his white, even teeth. "So, what do we do now?"

"I never wanted to be on the show. I did it for Edouard and the money." God, that was true. "Now neither one of those is a good enough reason. Edouard's not enough. And the money's not enough. I don't have any other option. I'm going to have to quit the show. In a way I'm grateful to you. When I saw the cameras on my daughter and her friends, I realized this had all gone too far."

"Whoa, whoa," Jock chuckled. "Let's think this through."

"I have thought about it." Her words belied her doubts.."To do this, to get this money, I have twisted up my whole life with lies. And I've kept my mouth shut and let people think this or that and do this or that when I should have said something. But it's not worth it. It's a terrible example for my daughter. I have to start telling the truth. Maybe I can still redeem myself." She took a deep, shaky breath.

"The solution is not to quit." He spoke in the low, intense murmur he used when in full persuasion mode.

"They want to take my baby away."

"What do you mean?"

"Because of all this deception... certain people have found out. And I am afraid they are going to tell the state child protection agency, and they are going to investigate me, and find out." The words just tumbled out. "Find out that it's true I have been an unfit mother."

She had finally shocked him.

"You can't be serious," he said. "You're not unfit."

"Because of the show I haven't spent as much time as I should with Booms. Babies need that mother-child bonding in infancy. And Callie has definitely stepped in in that area." Michelle's eyes teared up. She opened her purse and felt around inside it, seeking a tissue. "And I'm not getting enough money out of it to justify the time. I'm practically broke." There was no tissue, so she simply couldn't cry, that's all. "So I must just be gratifying my own ego, they'll say. God knows that's not true." She closed the purse.

Jock snorted. "That's really no one's business."

Michelle dabbed at her eyes with her index finger. She again noticed the muted murmur of traffic from outside, rising and falling, never quite going away. Like the waves crashing out on the beach. And for one desperate moment there—she roused herself from her melancholic reverie. "Nevertheless."

Jock leaned closer, his hands out, oddly enough, almost like he was holding a baby. "Look, here's what we can do. If you admit it's your baby, then your storyline can be you and Edouard raising the baby, but the baby mostly in the background. We can use stand-in baby. Or a doll. Your daughter only in the background. And we'll ditch the baby shower footage. Deep six. Gone."

Michelle wavered.

"But you have to be honest with yourself, and with Edouard. And with us."

Yes, the whole Edouard question! "That's the thing." She met his eyes. "Edouard and I are not getting together, not ever. And it's not his baby."

Jock's smile froze briefly. "So, just so I'm clear. You had the baby, not Callie."

"That's what I just said."

"But Edouard is not the father."

"No."

Michelle saw doubt in his face. That was rare.

"And can we rule out that Zam was the father?"

"What!" What kind of porno, creepo...

He laughed nervously. "Just kidding. Just kidding. So who is... . never mind."

She shook her head. "Edouard is not involved with Booms at all. That's all that matters. I'm raising him on my own—with my daughter's help, of course."

"Okay, so Ed is not the father. So it's about the two of you dealing with that fact as you try to build a relationship. That's complex and deep, if you really explore it." He laid a hand on her knee, and gave a gentle squeeze. "Whether you stay together beyond next spring is not my concern. But make the effort to stay together for the show. No one will ever condemn a woman trying to save a relationship."

"But then if we are honest," said Michelle. "It's just a nightmare between us. Is that really what you want?"

His wry frown, the tilt of his head, told Michelle the obvious answer. That was exactly what he wanted.

Michelle laid it out. "Since it's not his baby, automatically he's a cuckold and I'm a slut. I'm just not ready to do that on television."

Jock stood and turned, but there was nowhere to go in the crowded room. He turned back to face her, and leaned against a desk that had been shoved against another desk. He was just about the right height—or rather lack of height—to hang the curve of his butt on an office desk without bending his legs. "Television is about breaking down all those hypocrisies," he said, "those stereotypes. You fight the battle against your bad self, or anyway the bad image, and you make the world safe for single mothers."

Michelle wasn't going to be anybody's sociological hand puppet. "Sorry, you're not paying me enough. And I'm not _a single mother_ , just Boomer's mother, and Callie's mother. You want a lot of time and effort from me. I can't do it on per diems."

Jock smirked. "Ah, yes, the money. It always comes down to the money."

"I don't have a choice. If I don't show some income, _now_ , they are going to take my baby away, and maybe my daughter, too."

"Well, with this storyline, I would say you have a very good chance to be a finalist, and you know that means a very big payday. Biggest you've ever had."

"Great, then I'll tell the state there's a very good chance I'll be responsible. I've got an offer from my old company to settle my grievance and go back to work. I've got to take it. It'll pay my medical bills, and be a steady job. Not like this high insane risk world you live in."

Jock stared at her. "You should really think about this."

She laughed, in spite of herself. It really was over now. "Been. Done. Thought." She leaned back just a little, but it was too much. She slid off the ledge and the chair began to slowly suck her in. This wasn't just air coming out of a cushion, this was a chair with a serious underlying problem, and it wanted to eat her. She reached up, and Jock grasped her forearms and pulled her to her feet.

***

The two strangers standing on his porch stared at Edouard: a short, slight young woman with wispy bangs, and a taller, older, elegant woman in a dark skirt suit and dark glasses.

The petite one smiled. "Edward?"

Now Edouard knew that his first guess—well-dressed Jehovah's Witnesses—was wrong. He was wary. How did they know him? What did they want? "Yes."

"My name is Maria Montt from Caring Adoption. This is Mrs. Anna Coliche. We're here to talk to you about your son."

Edouard's protest died in his throat as the woman in the suit removed her glasses with a slow gesture. Her sparkling eyes pierced Edouard with a glamorous force he'd only seen in movies. She smiled benevolently, and in a smooth, husky voice she asked, "Would you like Gomer to have a better life?"

The answer to that could only be yes, of course. "Better than what? Wait a minute—who?"

The dark-eyed woman smiled. "May we come in?"

***

Jock was so tired he felt like there was fuzz growing out of his ears. Literally. He could not stop scratching and picking at them. Midnight had come and gone in the editing suite as he sat with Donna reviewing the depressingly dull footage they already had of Michelle and Edouard. And now, to his list of things to do, he had to add c _heck for ear fuzz_. But right now he just had to stop scratching and rubbing them.

"Do you believe Edouard or Michelle?" Donna leaned elbow on console, head on hand, obviously just as weary. "Or Zam?"

Jock twisted back and forth in the small, armless swivel chair, trying to loosen his back. "I believe Michelle, but it doesn't matter. She's determined to quit, just when she could light a fire under this piece of crap."

"But you only have her word that Edouard isn't the father, or for that matter, that she is the mother, right? I mean I didn't know she had a baby, and I spent more time with her than you did. Maybe Callie really did have it, and this is just another one of Michelle's attempts to protect her cubs. She's been lying to us since, how far back? August? April?" Donna scratched her eyebrow with a single fingernail.

"The more they tell me, the less I care who really did what. I just want a chance to get Michelle back on camera. She's the key—the reluctant Bette Davis of the piece." Jock pushed the mouse and began shutting down programs. "Let's go home."

Donna stood, gathering her purse and jacket. Jock hit the lights on the way out. As he locked the door, he had an idea. "I could threaten to sue her for breach of contract."

"That would be incredibly ugly." Donna paused on the sidewalk. Tiny moths zigzagged around the walkway light near her feet. "And fruitless. It won't get her back on the show."

They walked across the parking lot, their steps heavy and muffled. "Make her a finalist," said Donna. "That way she's guaranteed to split the hundred K with Edouard. She'll have to take it."

Jock paused. "But what about the rules, the on-line audience vote?"

"Without her and her drama, no one will be watching." Donna patted his cheek. "No one will be voting. And you know she's going to be at least _one of_ the finalists. In fact, she's about the only peg you've got to hang this on. You know that."

"But what if Zam is right, and the daughter had the baby, and Michelle's only doing this to protect her?" They reached the cars, Jock thumbed his door remote, and the doors of the Z unlocked.

Donna looked at him over the hood of her car. "Then Michelle is lying to us and all bets are off. We've already got the footage of the baby shower. Either Michelle's going to be the star of the show, or she's no use to us."

Donna was learning fast.

Jock opened the car door but hesitated, his fingers on the shiny black edge of the door. All his bets lately had paid off, even the risky ones. His petty larcenies had resulted in a better show. But this was the main chance. Without Michelle and Edouard and/or Michelle and Callie he didn't have anything. Except another failure. He could find enough cash to give Michelle a first payoff. And he could make sure she was a finalist, if she opened up and let him help her.

"You're right," he said.

"Only one thing."

"What?"

"If you get caught," Donna pointed at him, smiling, "I was never here, we never talked. I don't know from _nothin_ '!"

Jock couldn't help smiling. "Where'd you learn to talk like that?"

## V. THE DIVE

## CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It began to rain as Zam walked out of his last class, and he sprinted through big, splattering drops to the Nova, yanked open the door and slid into the seat. Only when he turned on the windshield wipers and was answered with a clattering screech of ossified rubber did he remember that the wiper blades were worn out. He couldn't put it off any longer. He drove to Auto Shack. Luckily there was a space available right in front of the store, and he hustled in, dodging drops.

He briefly considered the upgrade, bright red wipers. His car was a '71. Nothing special except the red re-paint and the fat black racing stripe that ran from head to tail. And those red wipers matched the paint. But they cost twenty-four. He bought the cheapies.

As he came out of the store the rain picked up and Zam stood under the porch looking at the sky and wondering if it was just a short shower. It might be, but how do you know? His lowering gaze caught the closed bank on the corner, with its covered drive-thru area. Still dry under there. At least he thought the bank was closed. If it wasn't and he started putting on his wipers there, he'd look pretty ridiculous.

A man's voice behind him said, "Nice ride."

"Thanks." Zam barely glanced at the man. Oh wait, it was that guy from the show. Fletcher.

"Oh, hey!" The guy recognized him. "How's it going on the set?"

"Okay," said Zam. He remembered that he was supposed to be somebody, and not blow something.

"It's Terry, right? We've never met. I'm Fletcher Moeller." The man stuck out his hand. "I'm on the business side."

Zam shook the hand. "I remember you. What are you doing here?"

"Fed-Exing." Fletcher pointed to a store further down the sidewalk.

"Oh."

Zam was about to leave when the guy said, "I used to have a '71."

Zam fiddled with the packaging of the wipers. He really didn't want to talk to this guy, but the car was a safe subject. "This's a '71."

"350?"

"307. Nothing special." He turned to leave. "Well..."

"Terry." Fletcher held up a finger. "Do you spell that with an 'i'?"

"Spell what?" Zam recognized that this was the part where he was supposed to be careful. His name was Terry Nation. Or something like that.

"Terry," said Fletcher.

"Oh. No, an E."

"You mean IE."

"No. What are you saying?" Zam ventured a spelling. "T-E-R-R-Y. No I at the end, no E."

"Oh. Whatever. As long as they cash your paychecks, right?" Fletcher chuckled.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." Zam hadn't seen any paychecks.

The rain had lessened, and Zam just wanted something to get off the subject of his name, his pay, and his job. So he stepped over to his car and started the wiper swap.

"So, going to ASU?" The man stayed under the porch. Cars going by now in the parking lot threw off small splashes of water.

"No, home." He knew changing wiper blades was easy, but he had never done it before, and it wasn't easy. He couldn't really see how to get the old one off, and he was getting wet. He retreated to the porch to study the package of new wipers, looking for a clue.

"I mean taking classes," said Fletcher.

"Oh, sure." Zam felt a little swelling of pride that he could be taken for a college student. "Cinema. Film Production."

"How's that going?"

"Good, good." The package was no help. Zam returned to the car. The front of his shirt and pants were now damp from leaning over the wet car.

"When did you start?"

"At school?" Finally, Zam realized that if he squeezed the end of the wiper arm thingy, the rubber part would slide out. He slid it out.

"On the production."

"Oh," Zam thought back to his career as Terry whoever. "About two weeks or so."

"Two weeks!" Fletcher seemed incredulous. "I've been paying you for two months!"

Zam laughed, nervously, even he could tell. "Months! I meant months. Yeah, I appreciate the money. It really helps. That amount."

"What amount?" The man took off his streamlined chrome glasses, and wiped the lenses on the tail of his plaid shirt as he waited for an answer.

Zam was determined to avoid saying anything stupid. "The amount I get paid."

"What is that? I don't remember."

"What is what?" He slid the new wiper in.

"The amount you get paid." Fletcher smiled.

"It's helpful." Zam fought off a reckless impulse. Unsuccessfully. "But I could stand a little more."

"How much more?"

"Oh..." Zam looked up at the sky, which seemed to brighten suddenly.

"As a percentage," said Fletcher. "So I can figure the, uh, payroll tax."

"As a percentage?" Crap! Zam felt himself floundering.

"By the way, you're not in the union, are you?" Fletcher glowered at him unexpectedly.

"What union?" Zam was grateful for the change of subject, but this could be a new trap.

"Any union."

"Should I be?"

"It won't help you." Fletcher seemed clear about that.

"Will it hurt me?"

"Not as long as you don't expect scale. This is a nonunion job. What was that percentage?"

"Oh, ten?"

"Ten percent!" Incredulous again. "You expect an extra two-fifty an hour?"

Zam realized that Fletcher knew exactly how much he was supposed to be paid, and that this meeting was not accidental. The man was after something. "I don't expect anything. How about five percent? That'd be great."

"I'll see what I can do. Well..." Fletcher seemed satisfied, turning to leave at last. "We may have to cut your hours a little."

"Jeez, I thought I was going to get rich in the movies."

The man laughed. "This ain't the movies. It's cable. And not cable movies. It's cable _cable!_ Say hi to Jock for me."

As the man walked away, Zam wondered about that message. This guy was likely to see Jock sooner than Zam would. Wasn't he?

***

Baby Boomer sat in the corner of the couch watching Callie, or sometimes staring at his hand. Callie couldn't help but think about how lonely she was. Boomer was great, and it was true she had to think back years to find a time when she had friends and was busy all the time, when there might be a knock on the door on any school-day afternoon and she would open it to find Jennifer, or Frannie, or that weird blond boy from down the street who smelled bad. She remembered those days with pleasure, but also longing. Even last summer she could count on Zam. Maybe they were just two dweebs keeping each other company, but so what? It was harmless, it was easy. But Zam never talked to her anymore, unless it was in a crowd of people and he was saying something ridiculous.

A gust of wind moaned outside the window. A storm coming in. Maybe it was only the gloomy weather that was bothering her.

Her cell rang. Who was this? "Hello?"

"Hey."

It really was David. "I was wondering if you were ever going to call."

"It's only been a couple of days since the shower thing."

"I know. I'm just really depressed."

"Would you like it if I came over?"

That tickled Callie. "I was just sitting here wishing someone would."

There was a soft knock on the door.

Callie opened it. "That's very funny."

"I was in the neighborhood."

David came in. Booms didn't seem to look at him, but he turned up the gurgling. Callie sat next to the baby and pulled him up to her lap, facing David, who kneeled down next to them and made a goofy face. "Hi? Hi-eee." He spoke in a soft, high-pitched voice.

Callie laughed. "Everyone talks like that around him."

David scooted back and sat on a footstool just caddy-corner from the couch. Callie bounced Booms on the cushions in an approximation of walking. His eyes lit up and his mouth formed a drooly bow of pleasure. David held out his finger and Booms grabbed it.

"He's pretty strong," said David. "I though maybe Zam would be here."

"Naw. I don't see him much anymore. He's getting more annoying all the time."

"Were you guys serious?"

Callie wanted to be careful what she said. But on the other hand she was tired of being careful. For two months or whatever she had lived in fear. "Naw. He was a friend. A thank you for being a friend type friend."

David's face turned even more deadpan than usual. "Then why did you say he made you pregnant?"

Callie felt trapped. And like all the best traps, or rather the worst traps, it was one she had made herself. "I didn't say it. He did. He really wanted to be a father, I guess."

"Well, it worked. Everybody thinks he's the guy now." Callie suddenly saw something funny in it. "Well, he sure abandoned me like a real father."

David looked very confused. He clearly did not live in a world in which multiple deceptions and disguises were part of everyday life.

Callie tucked the baby into her arm. The time for truth had come. As bad as it might be, like a vaccination, it wouldn't kill her. "I have to tell you something."

David leaned back, a wary frown on his face. "I don't want to know who it is. I don't care. I'm really just here because I like you. You know. As a person."

Callie's heart filled with warm, glowy stuff. "Really? Why? You hardly know me. I mean, believe me, you hardly know me."

David shrugged. "I thought I knew Julie. She's perfect for me. But—"

Callie took a deep breath. "Before you say anything else, there's something I need to tell you. I'm not Boomsies' real mother."

David smiled. "I know."

Callie panicked. So the truth had come out, and no one had told her. None of her so-called friends. It must be on the Web by now. They must be laughing and scorning her from Happy Valley Road to the Broadway Curve. From 199th Avenue to 199th Street.

David pinched Booms' thumb and wiggled it gently. "He's adopted, right?"

***

Michelle followed Edouard and his dog along the path up onto the canal bank road, toward one camera, and away from another. The new soundman hovered about fiddling with his digital recorder in a shoulder bag, and Jock, Donna, and the makeup woman trailed behind. The canal ran for miles across the top of Phoenix, with service roads on either side. Here, the road they stood on overlooked a small park carved into a curve of the canal. A row of fuzzy ancient cedars shaded tennis and volleyball courts. Michelle heard the pleasant tock of tennis balls being struck, and wished she were down there playing, not up here doing this.

Jock caught up with Michelle and Edouard. "This is a pretty spot, isn't it?"

From the top of the elevated canal bank, Michelle saw the treetops and roofs of homes spreading north to an unnamed granite mountain, tinted golden by the late afternoon sun.

"So." Jock gave them a last inspection. "We'll just head down this road and try it out. Michelle, you were afraid and alone all summer. Edouard, you were depressed and fearful about your job, and felt like Michelle was pushing you away."

Pepe trotted around them, sniffing the exciting urine sprays, or whatever it is that so fascinates dogs about running around and sniffing in new places.

"Does that all sound about right?" Jock touched Michelle's hair, and tucked the lavalier mike a little more securely under the placket of her pink golf shirt. "You both comfortable with that framing of the story?"

It sounded close enough to Michelle. Edouard smiled nervously. Jock backed away from them—out of the frame, Michelle now knew was the term—and made a little karate chop with his hand. That meant _action!_

Edouard had a clicker, a little five-cent toy shaped like an alligator that he used to control the dog. They walked a few steps, and he clicked the tin alligator. When Pepe heard the sound, he turned like a fish on a line and sprinted back to Edouard.

"Good boy!" Edouard reached down and rubbed the dog's neck and back.

"Very good!" Michelle clapped her hands, and made sure to smile.

"What's wrong?" Edouard straightened up, a blinking, offended look on his face.

"What? Nothing." She couldn't tell if this question was real, or for the camera. "I said _very good_."

Edouard rolled his shoulders, as if trying to loosen them. "It's just, I can tell."

Michelle knew what she had to do. Introduce the baby and delve into her failed relationship with Edouard. That was why they had come here today. They were trying to reconcile for the sake of the child, deal with her infidelity and his coldness. But she just didn't feel like giving them what they wanted, for some reason. Such as that it was phony and demeaning.

But she had to do it. She increased the wattage of her smile. "Nothing's wrong."

Edouard shrugged petulantly. He wasn't having much fun either. Michelle stroked his arm, trying to convey affection and support.

He leaned toward her and whispered. "Pet the dog, not me."

Michelle broadened her smile even more and gave his arm one last pat. As she crossed to walk on his other side, she extended a knuckle and popped him hard, once, in the ribs. He flinched, but didn't look at her. She didn't think either of the cameras caught it. Then again, she didn't really care.

They walked along, feet crunching the hard dirt of the canal road. Michelle's mind raced with possible things to say, ideas to get a conversation flowing. But she couldn't make a decision. So they walked in silence.

Jock called "Cut!"

"We've got a lighting problem," he walked up to them. The late afternoon sun glared off the canal surface and Michelle wondered if that was what he meant. Jock touched her elbow and steered her over to the edge of the road. "I think," he muttered, "you're the one who needs to get the ball rolling."

"I know." Michelle shook her head. She turned casually, as if looking at the sun, to see Edouard talking to the makeup woman. "It's just that—I think it would help if I told him about the money. Then he might relax a little. He's real tense now. I don't like hiding things."

Jock gave her a look. Michelle saw the irony, too. Now she was just hiding something _different_ from Edouard. It was too absurd not to be funny. She took a deep breath to keep from giggling.

"Okay," said Jock. "So we understand each other. We can't tell him. That's your secret and mine, for now, anyway. With him, tension is good."

Michelle knew why it had to be a secret. The rules of the show said that the finalists would be chosen by the audience. But Jock was so sure Michelle and Edouard would be chosen that he had promised her a finalist prize regardless, _if_ she started dishing the truth about her life. But that meant she and Edoo had to turn up the heat on their conflict and drama.

Jock put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Isn't this, right here, exactly why you split up? That controlling stuff by him, the passive-aggressive stuff? You need to be the one who challenges him, or we'll spend the next two hours filming him dithering and whining. And why did he insist on bringing that idiot dog?"

"I don't know!" Michelle muttered. Edouard had showed up at Michelle's house to give her a ride here with Pepe in the car. The dog was supposed to sit in back, but every time they stopped at a traffic light, he tried to squeeze through the bucket seats and pounce onto her lap.

"Express what you feel," said Jock. "Don't worry about whether it's fair or not. We can add fairness later." He stepped away and did the karate chop thing.

Michelle walked back over to Edouard. She took a calming breath. "I didn't tell you I was pregnant because you were cold and distant." To her it sounded as wooden as someone reading a bus schedule.

Edouard's reaction was almost as automatic. "Cold and distant? I was worried about losing my job."

Jock had asked them not to mention that the show had been cancelled over the summer—the real reason for Edouard's funk—and to pretend like he was worried about getting laid off by Cox Cable.

"Your job?" Michelle tried to be bitchier. "At least you had a job. I was worried to death about how I was going to raise a child. I thought I would have to give him away for adoption. Do you have any idea how hard that was?"

Edouard looked at Jock, who made a pushing motion with his hands. He took Michelle's arm. "I'm sure it was hard. But all you had to say was, I'm having your baby. How could you keep that from me?"

This was the part that griped Michelle. "Easy. I didn't see you all summer. You didn't even answer my phone calls."

Pepe came bounding up in front of them and looked like he was going to jump on Michelle. She turned away from the blow, but Edouard snapped the alligator and the dog skidded to a stop before them. "Why didn't I call you? Because you hated me. You yelled at me. And—" Edouard gave her a superior smirk. "You were lying to me."

Michelle looked for understanding in the water of the wide, smooth canal. Speaking of absurd, it was true that in the summer she thought Edouard was the father. So even though he turned out not to be, that part was true. She had not called him even though she thought he was the father. She remembered her anger clearly, and her depression. "I was hoping for the best. That's a little different. I was hoping you would act like a man, like a potential husband, not an overstuffed child."

"An overstuffed..." Edouard clicked his clicker rapidly, causing Pepe to bound around, then sit, then run in circles. "Your idea of a husband is someone to enable your self-pitying _poor me, I'm everybody's door mat_ act. No thanks."

Now she didn't have to fake anger. "You clearly were more interested in this reality show than you were in me. I was just a prop to you."

"I didn't want to be your husband," he sneered. "Then, or ever—and certainly not the kid's father. You were very—let's call it self-destructive—after your divorce. I thought I was doing you a favor."

Michelle thought she might shove him into the canal, but that would reinforce what he had just said. She turned to Jock. "Cut! You cut this, or I swear I will ram a camera down someone's throat."

Jock waved flat hands. "Cut."

Michelle looked at the sound guy. "You too, twinkletoes."

She turned back to Edouard, in a full flux of rage. "I may not be perfect, but I stand up and own what I've done. And don't worry, you're not the father of this child."

Edouard, already pink, rolled his eyes and pounded his fists up and down in the air. "Thank God for that!" He clicked the clicker, which the dog was now ignoring. "Because this kid is going to be one screwed up little muchacho if he's raised by you!"

"And I am not doing this no more." Michelle raked at the microphone under her blouse, and, spastic with anger, yanked the sending unit off its holder on her hip. "This is _bullshit!_ "

She threw the sender and mike into the canal.

The sound guy winced and yanked his headphones off.

Michelle screamed at him. "I thought I told you to cut."

"Yeah, but you were still transmitting, bitch!"

Jock stepped between them, strangely calm. "Okay. That's enough. Dean, we don't call the contestants bitch. You may apologize as soon as you're ready." He turned to his crew. "Let's call it a day."

They began walking back to the parking lot. Michelle lagged back for Donna. "Can you give me a ride?"

Edouard heard. "Don't be silly, dear. I'll give you a ride."

"No, thanks."

Edouard smiled, his anger gone, if it ever existed. "I think we nailed that."

Michelle looked at him, with his dog, his Hawaiian shirt, and his reality-show Michael Douglas grin, seemingly at home in the group of people now wrapping up another routine day. Why couldn't she be like that? Her heart was still racing, her stomach churning, and Michelle knew that as much as everything depended on it, she probably would not be able to pull this off.

## CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Boomer Sr. pulled up in the short driveway of Michelle's condo at a quarter after six in the morning and phoned her.

"Okay," Michelle said. He could tell by the sound of her voice that she was in motion, probably rushing to get ready.

He turned off the engine of the Nissan pickup and lowered the window beside him. He remembered this driveway, and particularly the fragrance of jasmine from that overgrown vine by the door, which he had noticed as he led her out to the ambulance. He had held the baby for her while she settled on the gurney in the back of the ambulance. After the near-panic of the birth she'd immediately switched to an almost unearthly calm that lasted all the way to the hospital, where she'd thanked him, hugged him, and disappeared from his life.

Boomer recalled wondering about the father, and why he was not there, was not mentioned. Now that he knew Michelle better, he understood the baby was the result of an impulsive moment. A one-night stand, though he would never say that to her. Boomer could relate. Those things had happened to him in younger days, and for all he knew, somewhere out in the world walked a swatch of genes, wondering what happened to his father, or not even knowing who his real father was.

Michelle came out and shut the door of the house with a solid whump. She wore jeans and a sweater, and carried a blue leather overnight bag that looked like a giant purse. She was big, but more sturdy than fat, and moved with a grace and confidence that belied the emotional turmoil she had confessed to him.

"Thanks for picking me up." She opened the door and tossed the bag on the floor of the truck, then followed it in, smiling and a little breathless.

She patted him on the arm as he turned the ignition key. "How are you?"

"Great." Boomer smiled at her as he twisted around and backed out into the quiet morning street. "So where are we going?"

"The motel behind Fashion Square. They're taking us up to Verde Valley on a bus, and we're going on the scenic railroad. You ever been?"

"Not on the railroad. Lots of times to Jerome, or Oak Creek."

"I love Oak Creek," she took a sip from the plastic water bottle she carried. "Then we're having lunch in Sedona. Or the other way around."

"That sounds like a nice day. Maybe some shopping involved?" It did sound nice, but he was going on a twenty-four hour shift at eight. He would've been up at this time anyway, which was why he volunteered to give her a ride.

"No shopping, just maybe some looking." The morning sun gave her face a pleasant tawny glow. She pulled sunglasses down over her eyes. "I can't afford anything in Sedona except a hamburger. And I can't eat a hamburger. I hope they're not going to film on the bus ride. I want to sleep. I didn't sleep much last night."

"Don't they film pretty much all the time?"

Michelle nodded. "And they're always looking for me. Ever since he found out about the baby, this guy just seems to find me fascinating."

"The director?"

"Yeah. Jock. How does anyone get named Jock?"

"It only works if he's Scottish." Boomer checked to see if she smiled.

"Someone said he's Flemish. Scottish, Flemish, underwearish..." She laughed. "I'd still hate to be named Jock."

"Is it any better than Boomer?"

"Boomer is a wonderful nickname, Norm." She used his real name.

"Okay, Louise." He used her middle name. They'd covered a lot of ground in a week of talking on the phone almost every night.

As they drove, she gave him sarcastic summaries of the other contestants. "There's Rita and Roy. They're the house flippers. They have a creepy feel, and this sense of injustice that they lost all their money. All the money they made by speculating, not working. Though they'll tell you how tough it was getting the painters to show up on time. Everyone wants to see people like that get humiliated, don't they?"

"The contestants get humiliated?"

"As far as I'm concerned, they sure do. It's reality TV." She took a sip of water. "Rusty and Tabitha—they're kind of interesting. They sit on the couch for ten years, and then decide to do extreme sports. It's like a hormone kicked in or something." Her voice lost its sarcastic sparkle. "They're so gung ho, but so freaking dull, they make me depressed. I'm depressed anyway."

"It can't be that bad."

"It is, because nobody's going to be more humiliated than me. In exchange for, well, basically, for more money. So, fair warning, that's the kind of shallow person I am."

Boomer looked across at her. He understood her dilemma, but not her hopelessness. There's always a way. Always.

"I probably sound like an ungrateful bitch. Lots of people would love to have this problem. Yeah, I'm a reality TV bitch. It makes me want to puke. And worse yet, we could win the damn thing. Way more money than I really need, and then a whole lot more publicity. Don't get me wrong, I'd love the winner's money, but I'll survive without it. I don't know if I'll survive being ripped up on television, in the tabloids."

"So what are you going to do—take a dive?"

"Take a dive." She clapped her hands, and her face lit up. "That's exactly what I'm going to do! I'll make sure we make the finals, but then I'll make sure we don't win."

"What's your boyfriend going to say about all this?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Your TV boyfriend," Boomer clarified.

"I probably won't tell him. He doesn't really need to know."

"Hey—" he punched her shoulder softly. "Whatever you decide to do, I'm sure it'll be alright."

She pointed at the Inn Suites.

As he turned into the north driveway, Boomer saw a large tour bus sitting a ways down the side parking lot.

"Stop here." Michelle grabbed his arm. "I want to..." She leaned over and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. "Thanks for bringing me."

"You're welcome." Boomer stopped the truck. "But here, have a real kiss."

She yielded to his lips for a moment, then pushed away, smiling and shy. "You better go up by the bus now. They finally got something first class on this production. The bus."

"Looks like a very comfortable bus." Boomer laughed. He saw a large man standing near the front of the bus, looking rather sour. It had to be Edouard.

Boomer stopped the car, and Michelle opened her door. "Mornin'!" she chirped. "Mister Calisher, Mister Sigurski." She hopped out and grabbed her bag. She smiled at Boomer. "Thanks for the ride. I'll talk to you soon."

There was a private twinkle in her eyes just for him.

***

The crew for this field trip was the largest Michelle had seen. When they got off the bus in Sedona, they just kept getting off. The cast and crew filled up the patio of the restaurant and now, with cameras, booms, makeup kits, and so forth, they filled up most of the open air car of the scenic railroad. Also along were many of the teachers and coaches who worked with the contestants, including Denise, group-trainer-slash drill sergeant. Michelle wondered if she would be ordered to do The Plank at some point.

The cast members rotated through short film sessions near the front of the car, which seemed designed mostly to show them in bright sun with their hair blowing in the twenty-mile-an-hour wind generated by the train's movement.

After her and Edouard's turn at this cheesecake session, Michelle sat near the back corner of the car next to Chris, the gay man who, with his partner, was hoping to learn home improvement skills and build a dream house. It was never just a house, when they or the show people talked about it. Always a _dream house_.

Michelle made a remark about the size of the crew.

"The network likes what they're seeing," Chris said. He was about thirty, with the typical doofus haircut favored by _men of_ that age group, but serious and easygoing. "So they're throwing more money at the show. That's why all the life coaches are along on this ride."

"That would have been hard to imagine back when we started." Michelle remembered the early meetings at the Suites and filming around the pool there and at city parks.

"Everybody is seeing the episodes except us."

Michelle could see the worry in his face. The contestants had turned over their images, their characters, and in a large sense their futures, to Jock and Donna and their crew of editors and whoever. And every one of the contestants probably had bad moments they hoped would not be used. Come to think of it, she was seeing a lot of worried expressions among the cast today.

And then there were the three or four who could care less what they looked like or how they were perceived by millions of people, as long as they were _seen_. Unfortunately, Michelle was very close to one of these gung-ho types.

"We're going to win it." Edouard leaned close when Chris had moved off. "Boomscam is going to put us right there."

"Booms what?"

"Oh." Edouard smiled, suddenly uneasy. "That's just my nickname for our storyline. Boomscam."

"What does that mean?"

"Well you know, I don't mean to say that it's really a scam. But hiding the baby from me, and Callie being the—" He mumbled the rest.

By then, Michelle had a pretty good grip on his arm. "No. No. No."

"It's what we agreed," he whined.

"No, we agreed that we would focus on you and me. Our various issues. Including why I kept the baby secret from you."

"Sure." He shrugged. "What does that take? Ten minutes?"

There it was again, the unbidden instant rage that had become the number one reason Michelle needed to quit the show before she committed a violent crime. She took a calming breath. "Oh, that tale of your assholage isn't over. No, sir. It's just started."

Edouard chuckled. So sure of himself. "They're going to want the baby sooner or later. They're going to want to reveal the truth about the lies you told."

Michelle had nothing to say to that, because, dammit, he was right. Jock had given her assurances, which he probably meant when he gave them. But soon, Michelle knew, he'd be back, wanting more. And more.

She needed a drink. She went to the coach behind the sun car. Paula was sitting in the third row and their eyes met. Michelle reached into the _Fat Chance_ cooler for a bottle of water and held it up. Paula nodded. Michelle grabbed another bottle and handed one to Paula.

"Thanks," said Paula.

Michelle sat down across the aisle from her. "Water, we got plenty of. How do you like the scenic trip?"

"Fine, but the wind is too much."

Paula had long, caramel blond hair that she often wore up. That looked great on her, even when it was a little disarrayed, like now. It was a look Michelle knew she could never pull off.

Paula leaned across the aisle toward Michelle. "Have they increased your per diem?"

Michelle was surprised at the question. "Yeah. Two hundred apiece."

"Son of a bitch," Paula growled.

You could like her, or not, and mostly Michelle didn't, but you seldom had to wonder long what was on Paula's mind. The increase in daily pay was not related to Michelle's secret deal to be a finalist. She was sure several other people had also been bumped up from one twenty-five. "Not yours?"

"No. Not a word. Or a cent."

"But you guys will be finalists." Michelle believed that. Mark and Paula were both good looking, mid-thirties, and they had that salacious storyline. Each had been in at least one hot, dramatic affair outside their marriage in the last two years. Jock, of course, had been trying to pry more of the salacious details from Paula. Because when a man has an affair, he's just a pig. When a woman has an affair, there's the question of why, which usually has an interesting answer.

"We're not winning." Paula stared at the seat in front of her. "No way. But we have to win. We have to. That money's going to pay for our divorce. The only reason we haven't divorced yet is that we can't sell our house and we can't afford to leave it."

"No! That's awful!" Michelle's reaction was automatic. But she immediately saw the flaw in Paula's plan. As she leaned closer to Paula, she looked up and down the car. Not a Fat Chancer to be seen. "If you're going to divorce him, do it now."

Paula seemed to be deciding how much she should trust Michelle. "That's not our storyline. We're fighting so hard to _save our marriage_. The reformed sex addicts gone straight. We're even joining the Baptist church. It's completely repulsive. But Jock and Donna said no one would vote for people getting a divorce. "

"Not a Baptist, eh?"

"Nope." Paula sat back in her seat. "If I'm going to be not a religion, I'll be not a Catholic. I know what I don't like about _that_ religion."

As skewed up as their storyline seemed, Michelle understood how perfectly it fit the logic of the show. "But that's where you guys are missing out," she told Paula. "You're trying to sell that you're really in love, and it's not selling."

"Just like our house." Paula laughed abruptly.

"The only way to pull this out is for you to get real."

"Get real on a reality show?" Paula looked dubious. "I don't know if that will work."

"You don't need Jock's permission to get divorced. I guarantee that if you go see your lawyer, cameras will follow you with their tongues hanging out. Stop pretending you like Mark. Open hatred has done wonders for my TV relationship with Edouard."

"I noticed." Paula sighed. "Everyone is jealous."

"You've got to do the same thing. And you can win this thing." When she said this a moment before, Michelle had been mouthing a platitude. Now she realized the importance of what Paula had told her. It wasn't enough for Michelle to try to hide her light and hope she wouldn't be noticed _too much_. Someone else had to catch fire. If Paula filed for divorce she could become the center of the show.

"Why are you telling me this?" Paula said. "We're supposed to be competitors."

Michelle felt encouraged to reveal something of herself to this woman she had so recently disliked. "Because I'm afraid I'm going to win, and I don't want to. Pretty soon, they're going to be pressuring me to admit on the air..." Michelle swallowed hard. "That I had a baby three days before filming started and tried to hide it."

Paula acted like Michelle had just confessed to burning some toast.

"Did you know?"

"I didn't know it was three days." Paula shook her head. "That's incredible. I thought maybe a couple of weeks."

"But you knew?"

"Yeah. But don't believe Jock if he tells you he knew all along. He didn't. I could tell the first time I saw you get out of a chair. I don't have kids but I've been around pregnant relatives all my life. Like I said, Catholic."

They sat there for a while, mulling their individual decisions. The train passed near a river, through tall trees, and the flicker of sunlight and shadow filled the railroad car.

"I don't hate him." Paula's voice was thick with emotion. "But even if he changes, I can never forgive what he did before."

"The infidelity..." Michelle sympathized completely. "I know that..."

"No!" Paula hissed. "The Saskatoon Sports Quad. A stadium he promoted up in Canada. A year and a half he was up there trying to sell this multi-purpose sports arena that looked like a giant bus shelter. That's where he met her. That's when I was lonely."

Michelle tried to imagine what kind of bus shelter looked like a stadium and to remember where Saskatoon is. "I didn't know he's an architect."

"He isn't. He's a hustler. And that, _Wa-la_ , is why we're on the show and on this train today."

"Did they build it? The sports arena?"

"No, the good people of Saskatoon woke up and said no. But why did they take so long? That was going to make us rich. Instead, it made us kaput. I can forgive him for the woman. But not for the damn Saskatoon Sports Quad."

Michelle was moved by this story of how something so promising had turned into a shit bomb. But she was learning, maybe, how to move on. "We're a lot alike," she said. "And we've got to learn to survive. Not just survive, but make that lemonade they always talk about, y'know? You, for example, can be miserable and rich, if you win the show, or just miserable. I can be rich and humiliated if I win, or not nearly as rich or as humiliated. It's kind of the same thing. Either way, it's what our lives have come to and there's no going back."

## CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As Michelle walked by the first editing station, she saw an image of herself flash on the screen. It made her shiver, like her dad used to say, as if someone had walked on her grave.

She had come in to the Sixteenth Street studio for a daily regurgitation session. The official title was video diary. As usual, she went into a small room, by herself, sat down in front of a sort of automatic camera and pushed a button. These visits to the video confessional were required of all the contestants. What they said was up to them, but they knew that their thoughts and reactions could be used on the show. Michelle had no idea what the other contestants—including Edouard—used this outlet for, but she kept her comments church-bulletin safe, recounting show events and making supportive statements about the other contestants. No personal feelings, nothing but the blandest porridge about her family.

After she took care of that chore, Michelle wanted to find Jock, to tell him that she had heard that Paula was filing for a divorce from Mark. It was a small trial balloon she'd agreed to run for Paula. She assumed Jock would be over in the new editing office next door, and followed the walkway past planters and a massive bougainvillea bush to that entrance. The large room was made into a half-dozen cubicles separated by chest-high upholstered partitions.

That's when Michelle got that shiver of recognition, almost like remembering a dream, and she paused and glanced over. A girl who looked about twelve was fast forwarding through a scene. That was not unusual. Somebody was always fiddling with the video. The images jumping past on the screen showed herself and Edouard... and Pepe.

Michelle howled. "Jock!"

His head popped up from an adjacent cubicle. The editing girl glanced at Michelle and clicked something. The image on the screen froze: Michelle in mid-snarl.

"What is this?" Michelle pointed at the monitor. She didn't bother trying to control her volume or her anger. He had really gone too far this time, the little scumwort.

"Hi, Michelle." Jock smiled, walking around the corner of the cubicle to her. He glanced at the screen, and let out an exaggerated sigh. "This is why we really prefer that talent stay out of the editing room."

"That's the canal!" Michelle jabbed her finger at the screen. "That's me with my head exploding. I thought you cut it!"

Jock gave her a stern look. "I agreed to cut the two DVRs. This is lapel cam imagery."

"You had secret cameras?"

"Microtechnology. We've used it all along. Remember that shot of you on the bike a while back? That was micro cam. You can't just turn it off like that."

Other heads were popping up in the cubicles, prairie dog style. She could almost hear their thoughts— _everyone wants more screen time, and this one is complaining?_ And maybe they were right. She had signed up to do a television show, as everyone constantly reminded her. "Jesus Elemeno Christ," she muttered. "You better not have a toilet paper cam in my bathroom."

Jock laughed. "Now look, all this lady's doing is logging stuff. Ninety percent of it never gets used. No one's seen it, I haven't seen it..."

"So you promise you'll never use it?"

Jock looked upward, perhaps seeking divine guidance. "I can't promise, but I'm not out to make you look bad. We're about inspiration, remember, not humiliation."

Michelle turned and went out the door, her original mission forgotten. Maybe it had been pointless and wrong-headed to try to win just a little but not too much. Now the idea sounded ridiculous. Perhaps Edouard was right, she was trying to control the uncontrollable, to have her cake without the calories. Maybe she should just go with the flow.

She made her way back down the sidewalk toward the parking lot. As she came around the overgrown bougainvillea, Michelle saw Edouard about to enter the studio. A tall, slim woman walked next to him. Edouard turned as Michelle approached.

"Ah, yes." He smiled nervously. "Michelle, I want you to meet Anna Coliche. We were just coming to look for you."

What fresh hell... Was this revenge for her showing up at the bus on Saturday with Boomer Sr.?

"Great to meet you." The woman took her hand, both words and gestures conveying an unexpected warmth, which immediately put Michelle on guard. She was half a head taller and half a body skinnier than Michelle, in a coffee-brown velour warm-up suit that hugged her prominent breasts and long legs. She had luxuriant brunette hair and the largest, chicest sunglasses Michelle had ever seen.

"She wants to..."

The woman ignored Edouard. She slipped her arm inside Michelle's. "Can we talk?"

"Sure." Michelle let herself be led toward the parking lot.

"I want to help." The woman took off her sunglasses, revealing intense dark green eyes under brows that spread as gracefully as little eagle wings. She was about Michelle's age, but she had a forthright, even intimidating edge that Michelle immediately envied. She got straight to the point. "I'm the mother Marie Montt told you about. We were contacted by them, when, you know, you were in the adoption process."

Michelle recoiled. What was an adoption-hunting mom doing with Edouard? "I told her it's out of the question."

The woman leaned on the fender of a deep blue Lexus. "Let me be frank, Michelle. The agency knows there are irregularities in your legal notification of the father."

"Edouard is not..."

"Of course not. But of course there is a father."

"Which is nobody's business."

"Your daughter seems confused as well." The woman smiled again, her warmth now barely hiding malevolence. "She claims the baby is hers, and she has even convinced the school. But we know who the mother is, don't we?"

"It's a harmless game." Michelle hid her panic with steadiness she did not feel.."She's been telling her friends."

"Harmless? Turning your baby over to your child to raise? Isn't it usually the other way around, that the daughter can't be responsible for the child?"

"You can't judge me."

The woman tilted her head. "But maybe CPS would."

How did this woman know so much about her? There could be only one answer, and there he stood, just where they'd left him, rocking on his heels, looking up at the trees.

Michelle marched over to Edouard in long, emphatic paces. She stuck her jaw up in his face. "You had no right."

Edouard raised his arms defensively. "It's for the show."

"What is?"

"Her." Edouard's fleshy face reddened. "I told you, I'm in this to win. If you won't be honest about our relationship on camera, then someone else has to step in and challenge you."

"Be honest? It's completely dishonest to say Booms is your son."

"Nevertheless, that's what we agreed to." He stepped back, his eyes cold, his voice unforgiving. "And since you broke that agreement, I have to have some means to create interest in us, even if that's dishonest, too."

"I should never have trusted you."

He switched to pleading. "I want her on the show, tempting us to give up our baby." He assumed a confidential air. "But it's only a test, and then I'll side with you on keeping the baby. After I get tempted."

Michelle studied him, momentarily baffled by the Cheshire Cat explanation. "What are you saying, that she's some kind of actress?"

"No, she's real. She really wants to adopt the baby. But I'll stop her before she goes too far. Give me a little credit, please."

"You'll stop her? She's already working with an adoption agency. She's investigated me and she's making threats." The woman was strutting up to them, and Michelle leaned into Edouard and whispered. "You are playing games with my life that you have no right to play. This is foolish and dangerous."

"Don't worry." Edouard gripped her hand. "I've got it."

Just as the velour pussycat reached them, Jock appeared from around the corner. As he walked up, smiling, he said, "Look out, I've got a camera!"

Michelle started. Was he kidding, or not?

They formed a triangle there on the little entry patio. Michelle and Edouard at one point, Jock at another, and the Loathsome Woman at the third. Edouard made a weak introducing motion with his hand. "Jock, this is Anna. She wants to adopt our baby."

Jock's smile widened. " _We_ don't have a baby."

Edouard blushed. "Michelle's and mine."

***

At first, Callie assumed the woman was just a visiting teacher, or social worker, or general do-gooder. The kind that showed up several times a week, it seemed like. This was only Booms' third visit to the lunchtime daycare, when the girls fed and played with their kids for an hour before going back to class. The center was in the former teacher's lunch room behind the cafeteria, and it was a real day care center during school hours, run by Miss Monica, with help from Miss Adrian and Miss Edna. It was over-decorated, in Callie's opinion, with posters of alphabet letters, animals, and hygiene tips.

The first thing they did was always baby inspection—all the children up on the big table, and clothes taken off. Miss Monica looked at each baby and asked questions: How has he been sleeping? What did she eat this morning? As usual, Gumms sat on the futon in the corner, absorbing the joy of so many babies.

The stranger, cute as a bug and serious as a housecat, sidled up to Callie, as Monica moved on down the table. "What are they doing?"

Callie pushed Booms' arm back into his baby tee shirt. "Checking for bruises and rashes." She sat him up. He stared at the lady with interest.

"Very good idea." The lady cooed at Booms, her friendly face crinkling up.

"Of which there are hardly ever any," continued Callie. "We're very proud of our little bastards."

"I see."

On the opposite side of the table, one of the other girls, Catherine, said, "Don't worry, ma'am. We all talk like that. The teacher doesn't like it, though."

The lady turned back to Callie. "Yours is a young one."

Callie picked Booms up and snuggled him in the crook of her arm. She smoothed his wisp of fawn hair. "He's too young to come to the day care, so my Grandma brings him once a week for lunch hour, so he can be with the other children."

"How are you doing after the pregnancy? Still recovering?"

"Oh, well, I'm young, you know." Callie had gotten fairly slick at fending off dangerous questions. "Bounced right back. I'm glad to be losing that weight, though."

"Is the father involved with him, if that's not too personal?"

"Well," Callie snickered. This was a persistent one. "Tell me who you are and I'll tell you if it's too personal."

"My name is Marie. I'm from Caring Adoption. We actually spoke on the phone, last week, I believe it was."

Two toddlers on the floor nearby struggled for a toy car, staggering to keep their balance. The distraction gave Callie a chance to process the unpleasant shock. "Oh, yes. I remember." Now she recognized the voice. "Yeah. Why are you here?"

"When you told me that you brought the baby to school, I thought that was interesting. So I thought I would come see. And the principal was kind enough to allow me."

Callie stood up. "Well it's almost time for us to head back to class."

"It's only 11:45. Does the next class start at twelve?" "I've got some stuff to do first." Callie took the baby over to Gumms. As casually as she could, she whispered, "Stay away from that lady. Go ahead and go."

Gumms arched a single eyebrow. She could handle anything. Callie could tell her James Bond was going to pick her up in a hovercraft on the football field, and she would arch an eyebrow and make her way to the fifty-yard line. Gumms hooked her arm through the strap of the diaper bag and in a moment she and Booms were out the door.

Callie turned to block the adoption lady from following them, but she seemed to have no such intention.

Callie grabbed her backpack and waved goodbye to a couple of the girls who were watching her.

The woman followed her as she headed for the door. The rest of the moms were now fully engaged in playtime. But they knew something was going on with Callie, just has she would have known if something threatened another one of the girls. One of them got in trouble or did something stupid fairly often, and the others always talked about it, and usually tried to help if they could. Monica was also very watchful usually, but she was sitting at her desk in the corner, her head bent over, writing something.

"Do you remember talking to me?" The woman's voice was as nice as could be.

"Sure. My mom flipped out when she found out."

"I asked you then if you were Gerald's sister."

"Yes, I remember."

"And you seemed to think you were."

"Bollocks! I don't have to tell the truth to strangers on the telephone, or even strangers who show up at school. Just because the principal let you in doesn't mean anything."

"But this is a program for unwed mothers."

Callie had nothing more to say.

"Would you like to discuss this with Monica or the administration?"

"No." Callie strained to keep the edge out of her voice. They were all right there, all the mothers, everyone who believed she was one of them—everyone who had accepted her, who she had deceived. "There's nothing to discuss."

"Maybe I should just talk to her."

"Do what you sodding want! You're not getting our baby." Callie did not want to be exposed as a liar, a faker, a cheat. But she had a bigger issue to deal with right now. This lady was after Booms, and Callie had to get him to a safe place and watch over him. She did not know if her mother planned to give the baby up now, after all, or if the father was out to get him. But she knew she could not let anyone take him.

She walked out into the sun, past the open gate by the back parking lot, down the sidewalk. She heard the twelve o'clock bell ring and wondered whether she would ever hear it again.

Gumms would take Booms to her house. It was only a few blocks away. She would catch them there. She glimpsed someone coming toward the gate behind her. If she looked back, someone might make her go back. No way. There were going to have to catch her if they could.

***

Corduroy, of course, bib overalls, soft green with yellow ducklings in the print. Michelle fell in love with them immediately. They were size three months. Just the thing for a 105 percentile-weight baby boy two months old.

After Edouard had left the studio this morning with the Vile Venom Lady, Michelle had put off Jock's request for an interview about this new threat. He wanted to get her while she was shaky and vulnerable, of course.

Instead she went shopping for baby clothes. She had lunch at the mall, tomato-basil pasta. She went to the vacuum cleaner shop and bought some bags.

The house was quiet, just the ticking of the wall clock in the kitchen. As she laid the little pants out on the couch next to her, Michelle fought the sob that was trying to escape from her chest. The woman had said the deadly letters: CPS. Child Protective Services, the people who take babies away. Because of Edouard's ambition, jealousy, and stupidity, Michelle had to face the possibility of losing Booms, and maybe Callie, too. But the real blame fell on her. She was the one who had lied, who had agreed to other people's lies and cover-ups and bogus explanations. Anyone who judged her actions without knowing the intent would call her self-centered, neurotic, and neglectful. They might even question her mental competence. And Michelle couldn't blame them, because when you added up everything, she had to be crazy.

There was only one thing to do. Now, at last, tell the truth, all of it, plead guilty and throw herself on the mercy of the court.

Michelle took a deep breath. She folded the pants and caught a whiff of the newness. She rehearsed the words of truth she would be saying to Callie (sad), Edouard (angry), Jock (forthright), and Gumms and the rest of the family (apologetic). Boomer already knew everything, but he didn't seem to realize how bad it was, and how bad she was. The hardest would be Callie, who had done absolutely nothing wrong. In fact, the whole experience of motherhood seemed to have had such a positive effect on Callie. She had become more responsible, helpful, considerate, confident—the whole Girl Scout code.

Michelle had called her mother after lunch, thinking she would stop and pick up Booms on the way home. But there was no answer, and Michelle thought they had not returned from school yet. It was after three now, and Michelle called her mother again. There was still no answer, which seemed odd.

There was a knock on the door, and Michelle rose and opened it. David Ross smiled at her, and she wondered why he knocked if Callie was with him.

"Hi." She waved him in. "Callie with you?"

"Naw. I thought she'd be here. She left school early I guess."

"Really? How early?"

He scratched his cheek. "I didn't see her at lunch. She was with Mommy 101. But I thought I'd see her later. Somebody said she left at lunch time with the baby." Michelle felt her stomach flutter. "With the baby and her grandmother?"

David shrugged. He obviously didn't want to be here, but he was concerned about Callie. "I don't know. Maybe. She's not answering her phone."

"She never does when you really want her."

"She's not responding to texts, either."

Michelle grabbed her phone and punched in Callie on speed dial. After five rings she got the voicemail. She called her mother. No answer. Baby Booms should be with her, and she should answer, but she didn't answer.

And that was the answer.

## VI. PROTECTIVE SERVICES

## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Child Protective Services had taken Booms and Callie, and maybe Gumms as well. They would be sent to foster homes—well, not her mother—and Michelle would have to make appointments to see them in sterilized visiting rooms where Booms would want to play with the shiny new toys, and avoid this strange, only vaguely familiar woman crying in the corner. Callie would get so hopeless and frustrated she would stick a nail file in someone and end up in Juvie Hall.

Michelle was not going to allow that to happen. If anyone were going to be locked up for a violent assault, it would be Michelle. And she knew just on whom to start her crime spree.

"They stole my baby!" she screamed into the phone.

"What?" Edouard playing dumb was like dumb squared. "What are you saying?"

"That woman of yours and the adoption agency called CPS and they came and took my baby. I can't get a hold of Callie. I can't get a hold of anybody!"

"You know that's not true. No one stole..."

His calm superiority infuriated Michelle. "Don't tell me what's true!"

"They're over at your mom's. You know she doesn't always answer the phone."

"Don't tell me what I know!" Michelle glanced at David, still sitting on the living room couch, pretending to watch TV, but surely hearing every word she said. She lowered her voice. "Why do you think they contacted you? To use you against me. Did you tell them you were the father?"

"Of course. But I'm using them, they're not using me."

"Listen, you brainless frog, you gave them permission to start snooping around in my life. And once they start snooping, I am dead, because they are looking at things that seem all wrong unless you understand the circumstances." She made another effort at lowering her voice. "Now, you are going to call that self-entitled douche, you are going to find her, and then you call me, and we are going wherever we have to go, and saying whatever we have to say to get my baby and my daughter back."

"Do you really think they did it?" he asked, finally seeming to grasp that he'd been played.

"Do it. Do it now." Michelle punched the call off, longing for the days when an industrial-strength telephone could be slammed down into its cradle so hard it made the bells ring.

She looked at David and wanted to scream. Not at him, necessarily, at everything. Instead, she roamed the room searching for calm, or strength. It was nearly four o'clock. Did the bureaucrats work past five? Would they split up Booms and Callie? And what the hell had happened to her mother?

She turned back to David. "When's the last time you heard from her? I know you told me, but I..."

David stood, and having to look upward to see his face helped remind Michelle that he was not a child. And neither was Callie. The realization unexpectedly calmed her. Callie would deal with whatever situation she was in as best she could.

David thumb-tapped his phone a few times and handed it to Michelle. It was a dish from Callie, dated 12:47. "My mom is giving my baby up for adoption. Not gona happen."

"What!" Michelle felt slapped. "What is she talking about?"

David took back his phone, shaking his head. "No idea." His thumbs worked the keypad of the phone. "There's only a few chafes... one from Ronette. She don't know WTF either."

"Remind me. A _chafe_ is..."

David flashed a sympathetic smile. "A response to a dish."

"Why would she think such a thing?"

He shrugged. "I guess because they came to get the baby back?"

That answer confused Michelle. "Get the... what?"

"You know, since it's adopted."

"Our baby is adopted? Who told you that?"

"Oh, I forget exactly." David tumbled his phone in his hand nervously. "I know Callie told me this other story about it, but it was too weird."

Michelle closed her eyes. How she had come to hate this explanation. But she had better get used to it. "Did she tell you that I had the baby?"

"Had the baby? You mean like..."

Michelle kept her voice calm and her words as simple as she could make them. "That I had a baby. I was pregnant. I had a son. Booms. Did she tell you that?"

"Yeah, and she was adopting it to keep you from giving it away?" He gave her a knowing smirk. "I mean, come on."

"It's true. It's her interpretation. But the facts, yeah."

David stared at her, his eyes blinking slowly like a computer trying to find an Internet address. "That is so... brilliant!" He broke into a delighted smile. "Oh. My. God. So brilliant."

Michelle studied him, somewhat aghast. She would love to find out how this string of lies and disasters emitted any brilliance, but she didn't have time right now. "Do you know where Callie's Gumms lives?"

David nodded. "Over there around, uh, that Jamba Juice, on—"

"That's right. You didn't drive over here, did you?"

"Naw. Friend dropped me off."

Michelle went into the kitchen. Seeing her car keys on top of her purse decided it. She grabbed the keys and jangled them as she walked over to David. "Can you go over there, to her grandma's house? Take my car and my cell number and just go there? See if anybody's there. If you think of anything or hear anything, call me. Or if you find her of course."

"Sure. Might as well."

"And I'll look on her computer. Maybe there's something on there." Michelle handed him the keys. "Just knock on the door. They'll answer if they're there. I'd go, but I think I should..."

She paused, suddenly aware of a low, rumbling sound. It seemed to be outside. There was a knock on the front door, and then the door opened. Boomer walked in, wearing a blue PFD windbreaker. "They dropped me off."

He came to Michelle and folded her in his arms. The rumble of the fire truck rose, briefly rattling the windows. Then it was gone.

He had come to save Michelle again. She latched onto his calm presence like Alien onto John Hurt's face.

***

Zam had the music up pretty high. That was the main thing he did in his room—have the music loud. The tacked-together plywood that sectioned off his little cubicle from the rest of the garage had strips of carpet hung on the inside to deaden sound so he could play the music pretty high, but not too high, or it would bleed out into the street or into the house.

Because it was on loud, Zam didn't hear his phone ring, just saw the screen flash. Fiona? What the heck did she want?

He turned the music down and accepted the call. "Zup."

"I'm out front."

"Front of where?"

"Your house. Can I come in?"

Zam sat up. There was no excuse for this. "Why?"

"Shall I knock on the front door?"

"No!" His friends never came to his house. Or if they did, they never came back. Fiona wasn't a friend, so she would probably talk about him. "Stay there. I'll come out."

Zam wasn't bringing her in here, and certainly not in the house, where his dad sat smoking, and probably by now drinking beer, a grump bomb ready to go off at the slightest jostle. Zam opened the side door to the garage. Fiona stood next to his car, and as soon as he appeared, she rushed forward and encircled him with a fervent hug.

"Hey! Hey! What the..." Young he might be, but Zam knew unexpected fervent hugs spelled seriousness afoot. Before he could get in her way she was past him and into the crowded passageway of the junk-filled garage. She reached the lighted opening of his cubby, turned and waited for him.

Crap, crap, crap. He led her in, sat on the trunk, and pointed to his chair. She sat, carefully not looking around, but he knew she was taking it all in, the weird cave in a garage, the posters, some cool, some ironic—but she wouldn't know which was which, of course. And what must she think of the TV on the wall, like a flat screen, but it was only a regular old TV, and he'd cut a hole in the plywood for the back part, which jutted out into the garage. The pathetic loserness of it all overwhelmed him for a moment.

But she really did have something serious on her mind. "It's Callie."

"She's in trouble?"

Fiona nodded.

Callie had been shopping for trouble, relentlessly. Not too surprising she had found it on sale. "So, is everybody happy now?"

She growled. "Don't be like that."

"Don't be what? Right? I tried to help her..."

"By pretending to be the father? Callie didn't ask you to do that."

"She wanted me to make people believe she was the mother. You can't do that by being silent. There has to be a version of the truth out there, or people will believe whatever they want." Zam said it without energy or conviction. The whole story was so played. He had lost interest in it.

"I don't get it." Fiona shook her head.

"Nobody got it. Not her. Not you. I ended up just looking very lame."

Fiona held up her cell. "You read Callie's..."

Zam shook his head. "I'm avoiding her. In fact I'm avoiding everything except direct text and sites with actual, you know, content."

Fiona rolled her eyes.

"Yes, content." Zam really wanted her out of there "Look, you came here to see me. We're not exactly buds. So what is it?"

"Her mother wants to give the baby up for adoption." Fiona crossed her arms as if scared, or cold. "We—she—we aren't going to let that happen."

On top of all the other embarrassments Zam wondered if it was too cold in here. "She can do it if she wants. It's her baby."

"I know."

That surprised Zam a little, but he knew it shouldn't have. "Since when?"

Fiona shrugged.

"So Callie's giving up on fake motherhood?"

"It wasn't fake. I mean not _really_ fake. She was taking care of the child as much as she could. But people couldn't just let it be."

"Of course not. I told her that. People will always assume the worst." Zam didn't know what else to say. He punched up the music.

Fiona looked around her now, frankly inspecting. She didn't have the usual black goop around her eyes, and Zam didn't know if he was supposed to notice that, or ignore it. You had to look at her eyes.

She shouted. "This is your room?"

He shook his head. "I don't sleep here. Just hang out. For privacy."

She nodded.

"Why did you take the makeup off?" he asked.

"I didn't take it off." She smiled. "I didn't put it _on_."

"Right." It made perfect sense. He turned the music off, or turned quiet _on_. "So where is she? Callie?"

***

David had only had a driver's license for a few months, so he asked the fireman to drive. He didn't need the stress of learning how to handle someone else's funky old Acura. They went south on the Fifty-One.

Boomer asked him the obvious questions. No, David hadn't seen her since this morning, or heard from her. One of the girls in the mommy class told him Callie had gone home at lunchtime. Nobody else he knew knew anything, but then he didn't really know anyone who knew Callie except Fiona, and she hadn't seen Callie either. Or so she said. David was pretty sure Fiona would tell him the truth. But what she thought was the truth might be fairly bizarre.

And anyway what was true? David was still grappling with the realization that Callie had been telling the truth exactly when he thought she was lying about adopting Booms, not having him. He looked at Boomer Sr., who glanced back at him. He wondered what to say next. "How much do you know about what's going on?"

"I was gonna ask you the same thing. You mean that Callie's not really the mother?"

"And the baby's not adopted."

Boomer laughed, a little too merrily. "I can vouch for that."

David didn't get the joke, if there was one. "And no one can really take the baby, because Callie and her mom really haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh, I agree. No way the baby goes anywhere." The fireman had reached the Glendale exit and eased down the ramp to a red light.

So he knew as much as David, maybe more. Maybe Boomer could explain something to him. "Why'd they do it?"

The fireman didn't answer. David wondered if he'd heard the question. "Do you have any idea? I mean, why'd they lie about it?"

"I don't know." Boomer spoke slowly. "Michelle was under a lot of stress. Still is. I don't know all the reasons. And I don't know about Callie."

David ran down the list. "Her parents divorced. Her mom cracking up on reality TV. And then the baby came. And Zam kind of going crackers, too. And then the cover-up about the baby. I guess that's a lot of stress. But it doesn't really explain it. And the baby shower. Were you at the baby shower?"

"No. Missed that. Heard a little about it."

"Well, you were the only one. Camera crew, Crocodile Hunter..."

"And Michelle had no permanent income." Boomer tapped the steering wheel as he drove. "And her husband really took her to the cleaners in the divorce, apparently. So she needed to stay on the reality show, for the money—or at least the potential for money."

David contemplated the weirdness of it all again. "But, a _baby_..."

"Yes," said Boomer. "Once a baby comes, it's there. It needs to be fed. It needs to be held. A baby jerks you back to reality."

David was a little baffled by that. Once it comes, it's there?

He checked his Dish app. There was a chafe from Callie. He read it to the fireman. "This is from Callie. _Baby booms under dire threat. Im at an unknown location, seeking to find a way for happiness and security. I tried to be a good mom to booms tho my mom is real mom to both of us._ "

Boomer looked at him, his eyes dark and serious. "That sounds scary. Like she's about to jump off a bridge or something."

David pounded his fist on his knee. "Where is she?" He had to respond, but he knew if he pleaded with her, or asked where she was, she would ignore him, because he'd already done those things multiple times. So he typed. _Hey blossom of mystery don't pluck yourself._

It was brilliant. It was moronic. It was all he had.

***

Michelle scrolled madly through the PC screens. Callie used the home computer mostly for downloading videos, games, and other stuff. People she cared about rarely contacted her on something so 1999 as e-mail. So her e-mail box was full of page after page of unopened messages, mostly junk mail.

As Michelle opened and closed screens, scrolled and searched programs and Callie's baffling desktop icons, she found no clues, except clues about what she would miss if her daughter and son became absent from her life.

Her phone gurgled. Boomer Sr. "We're at her house. No one here."

Despair suffocated Michelle. "Try the school. David knows where."

Sending them to the school was hopeless. She knew it and they knew it. But maybe if enough pointless, desperate actions piled up, they would amount to something like a hope.

***

Jock was still at the studio when he got Edouard's call. Where else would he be at five-thirty in the afternoon but at the studio? The call had been rather garbled, or maybe Edouard was garbled. A woman who wanted to adopt Michelle's baby had stolen the baby, maybe. Whatever it was exactly, it had breakout potential in the Michelle-Edouard saga. Jock had offered to help, and he sincerely did want to help Edouard and Michelle with this problem. He also sincerely wanted to get something filmable out of it when the danger was past, if there were any danger.

He saw Edouard walk in and stand waiting in the foyer in front of the tinted glass door. Jock waved and headed over to meet him. The sound designer was demo-ing soundtrack music at a volume that filled up the whole building, at the moment with a U2ish portentous strumming and drumming.

Edouard checked his watch. "She'll be here soon. You've got to help me."

Jock wanted clarification. "So she has the baby now?"

"We think so. See, I told them I was the real father, and I'm not—"

"You're not?" Jock knew this from Michelle, but he did not know how much Edouard knew about what he knew.

"No, only on the show. But the point is, because I told them I'm the father and I would consider giving up the baby, they used that to somehow get the state adoption agency involved, and decided that Michelle is an unfit mother." Edouard paused for a breath. "So here's what we do. You tell her you're the father, and you want the baby back right now. And demand to know where it is."

"You're only the father on the show?" Jock repeated. It suddenly struck him how bleak and yet cosmically human this story had become. In five years of involvement in reality television, Jock had heard some convoluted ways of making the unbelievable real. He thought he had long since become inured to the pain and struggle people created trying to be better or more interesting than they were. But he felt oddly touched watching Edouard gasping for breath and grasping at straws.

"Yes, I know, it's messed up." Edouard nodded. "I'll explain it later. Here she comes. Now, you're the father."

Jock relented. "Alright! But do they have any proof who the father is?"

Edouard shrugged and swiveled his head. The door was opening. It was the leggy dark woman from this morning. Now she wore jeans and a V-neck long-sleeve tee shirt, her longish brown hair held back by a rhinestone-studded visor.

Edouard smiled at her. "Thanks for coming."

She gave Edouard a chill look, and shifted it to Jock, who was neither chilled nor intimidated. This was a lark to him. Nothing to lose personally, and almost certainly a fruitful new curlicue to Michelle and Edouard's story arc.

"What do you want?" She glanced at Edouard, and looked around for the source of the music, which had changed to mandolin and whistling. "I assume this is about the baby."

Edouard turned to Jock, and Jock took over. He pointed to the conference room. "Let's go in there and sit down for a minute. It'll be quieter."

The woman shot him an impatient glance, but she followed him in. Jock sat down at the long table still cluttered with styrofoam cups and used soda cans from an afternoon meeting. The woman took the seat across from him and laid her elaborate key ring on the table with a jangly thump.

Edouard came in last and closed the door, which only slightly muffled the music, now a wah-wah bongos funk. "I don't know if you two met this morning. Jock, Anna Coliche. Um, have you taken any steps? I mean about adopting the baby?"

The woman studied him. "No steps."

"Okay. Good. Good." Edouard pulled up a chair at the end of the table between Mrs. Coliche and Jock.

Her darting eyes were almost invisible beneath the visor. "I know that Marie Montt went to the girl's school today. The baby was there."

"You talk to anyone else?" Edouard asked.

"I didn't even really talk to her. I knew she went, that's all. What's this about?"

The principal aspect of her character, Jock figured, was control. She made decisions quickly and then spent the rest of her time getting you to agree with her.

Edouard picked up an empty coffee cup and looked inside, apparently not liking what he saw there. "What I told you before? I'm not the father."

Mrs. Coliche shifted her gaze to Jock. "And I suppose he is."

"I am." Jock made a point not to smile.

She didn't blink. "Are you on this show, too?"

Without a trace of ego or exaggeration, Jock told her, "I am the show."

She did not ask for an explanation or look impressed. "And you're the father of the baby?"

"That's right."

"Congratulations. But you don't have custody, obviously."

Jock knew all about custody from his divorce. You give away nothing. "I have joint custody."

She leaned her forearms on the edge of the table and clasped her hands. "That's interesting, because you don't show up in the records. So are you the star? Of this—reality show, isn't it?"

"Executive producer. It's called _Fat Chance_. We're on WRM."

She shook her head slowly, as if searching her memory for something too obscure to recall. "Sorry. I never heard of it." She studied her immaculate burgundy-lacquered nails. "Here's the deal, if you don't know. Michelle contacted the agency seeking to place the baby. They contacted us, and we agreed to adopt him. She hasn't given us a final answer. I suspect it's going to be yes." She locked eyes with Jock, serene in her confidence. "My husband and I have three other children. One is adopted. We have a terrific family, and the kids are excited about a new baby brother."

Jock looked at Edouard for a reaction. He found fear, and possible incontinence. He would have to fight this dragon alone. Engaging the woman's stare, he said, "Not this one, though."

Her mouth curled in the barest of smiles. "What are you to her now? Not husband. Boyfriend?"

"Friend." Jock wouldn't be intimidated. He was playing with house money.

"If you are the father, when did you meet Michelle?"

Jock didn't sweat the details. "Last year. She was someone who auditioned. We had a lot in common. Both divorced, single."

"Afraid of dying alone," Edouard cut in.

Jock glanced at him. Why didn't he ever project this kind of depth and sincerity when they were filming? Jock reached over and placed a firm hand on Edouard's shoulder. "Yes, you know how it is, my friend." He glanced at the woman. "So we dated briefly, Michelle and I. The child came out of that."

Mrs. Coliche placed her palms together and pointed this prayer at Jock. "So you screwed one of the contestants. Bit of a sticky wicket there, I would think. Did the other contestants know? Did your boss?"

Jock winced inwardly—at least he hoped it was inwardly. She was tricky. He needed to get back on the offensive. "The issue here is you. You're harassing Michelle. You've got to cease and desist."

The woman's eyes glowed with amusement. "You're an actor! I knew it! You were on _Law & Order_, right?"

Jock felt a curiously jagged mix of frustration and pride. "Yeah. Long time ago. Minor recurring role as a defense attorney. I didn't say cease and desist. Someone else did."

She looked from Jock to Edouard. "So what I'm trying to figure out is, what's got you all hot and bothered?" She stared at Edouard until he looked up to meet her gaze. "You're all, _get down here_. And I get down here and find two fake daddies."

Edouard perked up. "No, I..."

Jock cut in. "The baby, my baby, is missing."

He had finally succeeded in surprising her.

"And you really think I have him?"

"You or someone you know." The accusation still didn't seem to dent her.

"Well I don't. You can go to my house and look. But my God, this woman. First she hides the baby, then she abandons it, then she loses it."

Edouard flared up. "None of those happened. Except the hiding. She didn't abandon the baby."

"But she has lost it."

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."

"She has no real job..."

Jock said, "She has a job."

The woman glanced around the office. The music had become mournful Pink Floyd. "Oh. Here? For how long?"

Jock volleyed the arrogance right back at her. "In this economy, you could ask that about anyone's job."

"But since you're the father, you're providing all the support she needs."

"Absolutely." If Michelle won prize money, that would support the child at least through junior high.

"Is that why she worked for the census this summer?"

"That was before we knew," said Jock. "Before I knew."

The woman touched her chin with the wine-red tip of a fingernail. "When she was either denying the pregnancy or hiding it."

Edouard interjected. "She wasn't seeing him then."

"We had broken up by then," said Jock. "She's with Edouard now."

Mrs. Coliche coughed out a derisive laugh. "No, she's not. I know she's pretending she is. Here's what I guess is happening. The woman you knocked up is blackmailing you, and so, surprise, surprise, somehow she's going to win a boatload of money on your show. That's pretty slick."

Jock pulled his producer face. Explain it to the poor soul who has no idea how Hollywood works. Even though she had just nailed the scheme—at least some of it. "No, no, you're not close."

"Does your boss know about this?" She smirked. "Do the television police know about this? I'm surprised that you, a lawyer, thought you could get away with it. Even a TV lawyer ought to be smarter than that."

***

David could tell by the shortest of glances at the parking lot that Callie was not at school. He didn't even know what he was looking for. Callie sitting on a curb? One of her friends? He didn't know who most of her friends were. A car? Callie didn't have a car. Neither did Fiona.

As the fireman drove, he toggled back and forth between networks. And there she was, not on Dish, but on Tō-jam.

**Boomerumor Blog 5:38 pm:** Never-the-less I have given my all, and I will not let our little family be broken up without a battle. This may be the final entry. I have learned so much by being a mother. Do not mock me, ads offering to protect my identity on TV and radio and web browser. There is no one you can call who will guarantee safety and security. Femmes magazine articles that promise seven surefire solutions for every problem? Nay Nay. Strength comes from within, from courage and determination. And the safety of the home is not a debit card from your parents, it's a handshake from God, a hug given for every hug received. Good bye until next time!

David knew by the punctuation and full sentences that Callie was now at a computer with a full keyboard. So she had to be at a location. And she wasn't at her mom's or they would have heard. She might be at Fiona's or somewhere else. But he could only look where he knew to look, and he seemed to remember an ancient PC in the corner at Gumms' house.

"Let's go back to the grandma's."

"Gumms?"

"I think Callie's there now."

## CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There sat Callie pounding the god-damn keys on the computer in the corner. Kate scrubbed the potatoes under the kitchen faucet. She wanted to say something, but she held her tongue. Kate always held her tongue, even when she knew the right thing someone should do. It was the curse of grandmotherhood.

Callie had dragged her to the library, begged for ice cream, kept them out until nearly fucking dinnertime, and now, instead of helping, she sat staring at that piece of shit machine and yakking her god-damn head off on the phone. Kate gave her a little prod. "Sweetie, can you take out the trash?"

"Uh huh." Callie stared at the screen and didn't move or change expression in the slightest.

A younger, more impatient Gumms might respond by nagging or kicking someone's little round butt. But Kate focused on scrubbing the potatoes.

For a while. "Since I am cooking..."

Callie pushed a final button on the keyboard and stood up. "Sorry, but there's a crisis. My girlfriend is threatening to run away from home. Down to her grandma's in Tucson."

_Bull-shit_ , thought Kate. "Oh, my. Is she alright?"

Callie shook her head somberly. "A bad situation at home. Real danger. But I'm trying to help her however I can. I'm going to go down with her to get settled."

"Does your mom know?"

"I can't tell her because I have to take the baby. And I know she'll freak out."

Kate dried her hands. Time for some serious grappling with this girl. Michelle gave in to Callie and gave in to her, and this sort of thing was the end result. Kate would set her straight. "Oh, she's going to freak out all right. You just don't want to be there when she does. That's chicken."

Callie sighed wearily, shaking her head.

"But I don't believe you, anyway." Kate turned on a stove burner. "What's really going on? First you have to stay for dinner cuz Michelle went out. Now you're going to Tucson?"

"Just what I told you," said Callie, voice rising. Her phone rang, and she grimaced and slid into the living room for another hushed and anxious conversation.

Kate did quick calculations. She hadn't heard from Michelle all afternoon. That was unusual, no matter what was going on. Something—but what?—was up between her and Callie.

Callie came back in and leaned on the counter.

Kate refused to give in. "What's going on?"

Callie shook her head and growled in disbelief. "Nothing! I—"

"No way, Sugar Pop, that you are taking Jerry." Kate almost never called him Boomer, or any of the variants that Michelle and Callie loved so much.

"I have to take him. I'm the real mother, as everyone knows, and I have to go to Tucson. Where I go, ergo, he goes."

Kate's multiple objections to this statement were interrupted by the doorbell, and she went to the front door and opened it. There stood a man in shorts and a windbreaker who looked like a god-damn little league coach.

"Hi. I'm Michelle's friend." He reached for her hand. "Boomer Sigursky."

He came in, followed by Callie's new boy. The big one with the curly hair. Callie walked out of the room without speaking. The coach had his phone out right away. "She's here," he said. "Your mother's."

Callie came back into the room, carrying the baby.

Boomer spoke into the phone. "He's here. He looks fine." He held the phone toward Callie. "She wants to..."

Callie waved him off. "No."

Boomer hesitated, obviously reluctant to get in the middle of a family fight. Smart son of a bitch. "Call you back in five minutes," he said into the phone. Then he flipped it off.

Kate had been about to ask for the phone. "Was that Michelle, finally? She hasn't called all afternoon."

Boomer said, "Yes."

Callie hitched up the baby on her hip. "Gumms, she was trying to call. I'm sorry. I blocked her number on both our phones." " _Why_ , for god's sake?"

"Because." Callie let out a big, shaky sigh. "She's going to give up the baby for adoption. I can't let that happen."

This was the kind of horseshit you ended up with by indulging a child. Callie was a pretty good girl, but teenagers get crazy ideas, and that's when the old farts have to step up and be counted. "She's doing no such thing. Where'd you get that idea?"

"Oh, no, it's real." Callie shook her head, not even listening.

Boomer spoke in a low, calm voice. "She's very worried about you. She thought that the government came and took you away. And took the baby. She's frantic."

Callie said, "What government? Is it the adoption agency?"

Boomer cocked his head. "I don't know. I just know she's real worried."

"Why would someone come and take the baby if she didn't want them to? She's the mom. It doesn't make sense. _She's_ the one who called the adoption agency."

The boy standing next to Boomer finally said something. "Where were you? Why didn't you call me?"

Callie spoke evenly but forcefully. "Because, David. Just because. I knew you'd try to stop me. Because this is my problem. It's not yours. I have to handle it."

David pleaded with her. "Don't be stupid. She's not giving the baby away. I was just over there."

"Yes, she is." Callie shifted the baby to her other arm. He seemed happy hanging there in his stained tee shirt, listening to all the big people chirp.

Kate was still standing by the door. "Now, Callie, where are you going with your friend?"

"It's not my friend who's in trouble, it's me." Callie's tone went up a notch or two. "We're going to lose this baby unless I get him out of here. We're going somewhere safe, until it's all worked out."

" _This_ is safe, right here!" Now Kate could clearly discern the panic that was driving Callie. Firm but gentle was what she needed now. "Before you do anything, call your mother."

Boomer said, "Call her. She needs to hear from you."

"Fine." Callie punched numbers into her cell phone.

Kate felt like if she could get everyone seated it would be a step in the calming down direction. "Why don't we all sit down?"

Boomer and the tall boy shifted a little, glancing around.

"Here," Kate herded them, "in the living room."

But before she'd moved two steps, there was a knock on the door. Kate opened it a crack. It was that long-haired boy, and a girl. "Oh—"

"It's Zam, Gumms," said Callie, thumb in the air over her phone keypad. "I asked them to come."

***

David looked around at the growing crowd all standing in a circle on the green shag carpet by the front door. No one had known where to find Callie all afternoon, but now everyone seemed to be finding her.

Callie pointed with her phone at Zam and Fiona. "I'm going with them. I'll be safe."

David knew what he had to do. "I'm going with you, too."

Callie rolled her eyes. "You don't know where we're going. You don't understand."

Now that took the cake. This girl told lies, disappeared, explained nothing, and then complained that _he_ didn't understand. "What don't I get now? Look, I'm going. I'll follow you if I have to."

Callie said, "You don't have a car."

"I have your mom's car."

Boomer raised his hand and touched his goatee, and this little action directed everyone's eyes to him. "Nobody has to follow. You'll be on police radio in about a minute."

Callie slid the phone in her pocket. She hadn't made the call to her mother. "I am going to a safe place where there is a responsible adult. None of you have the authority to tell me what to do."

"Callie..." Gumms held out her arms, pleading.

"I'll be _alright_ , Grandma. I'll call you later tonight."

It seemed to David that Callie was technically right. She wasn't really kidnapping the baby. It was her baby. Or her brother. In the family somehow. Was it possible to kidnap your own sibling? And calling the police would be bad for everyone. "I'll go," he said, talking mainly to Boomer and the grandmother. "I'll watch over her."

Callie said, "I don't need that."

Zam said, "She don't need that."

Fiona said, "We could use that."

Zam scoffed. "So I'm just the cabdriver?"

"No." Fiona grabbed his arm and wiggled it. "But if it'll keep this guy from calling the cops..."

David nodded at Boomer. "I'll vouch for her. I'll stay in touch."

"I'm not trying to create a bad scene." Boomer grimaced. "But—"

Callie snorted, all anxiousness and impatience. "All right! He can come."

David looked at Gumms for agreement. She closed her eyes and shook her head. " _Someone_ please call Michelle."

"I'll call once we're going." Callie picked up the diaper bag.

David took the bag. "She'll call once we're going."

"You've got ten minutes," Boomer said, "or it goes on the radio."

Gumms nodded. "That's right. We're not bullshittin' around."

Callie, Zam, and Fiona all stared at Gumms. David was shocked, too. It was hilarious, the sweet old lady spitting that out.

***

Zam's old car was as cramped and noisy as a spacecraft. Callie wanted to sit in the back but there were only two seat belts back there, so Booms' car seat got the passenger side belt. Callie had to share a belt with David, and basically they were all crammed in together, which was proof that he shouldn't have come, but what the fnork, too late now.

She didn't speak to David and couldn't speak to Zam and Fiona, who sat in the front, sectioned off by the high spacecraft seats. It was just as well that they probably couldn't hear her. She called her mother. It started off badly.

"Boomer says I can't ask you any questions. Such as where are you, and why haven't you called, and where is my baby?"

"You already know the answers, Mom. I'm going to spend the night at my friend's house. I have everything we need, including his coat and pajamas, food, diapers, wipes. David is with me, so that should make you feel better."

"Why is that better? I barely know him."

"He's very responsible." Callie prepared for the obvious retort to that— _Thank God someone there is responsible_. It did not come. "Mister Sigursky must have told you."

"Yeah, he told me all right. I love how this decision was made by everyone but me. I was afraid you had been picked up, or taken. I'm just glad you weren't. Maybe we were both wrong."

"I wasn't wrong," said Callie. "Booms was in danger. You weren't there. Whoever that was at school, she was making threats. And I'm still not sure she's through."

"I'm not, either. But I didn't send her."

"Then I'm going to proceed with this. I think I have to..."

"Enough!" Her mother's voice slammed a door on Callie's explanation. "I'm letting you do this in hopes you will clear your head and make the right decision. I don't admit that you are right."

"Well, I have to." Callie said it without wavering, but she did not feel as strong as she sounded. She wanted to end all the conversation and have five minutes to think, which, with all the planning and questioning and explaining and justifying, she hadn't had all afternoon.

There was a very long silence. Finally her mother said, "You have to promise that if I call you, you will answer."

"No." Callie had to say it. "I'm sorry. I'm not answering anything tonight."

"No. No!" Agitation seemed to strangle Michelle for a moment. "That is not acceptable. I just can't... I'm lost for words."

"I'll call you in the morning, I promise." Callie was firm, but kind. "Just don't try to call me, okay? Not tonight. That's all I ask."

"But why? I don't agree, or even understand why you would say that."

"I just, just tonight, that's all I'm asking."

After a few seconds her mother said,"I can't stop you, but you think hard about whether this is the right thing to do."

That was it. Her mother hung up and Callie closed her phone, dread crowding her mind. She almost told Zam to turn around, but no. The truth hadn't changed.

Callie gave Booms his Enfamil, and he barely stayed awake long enough to finish it. She jiggled his seat until he produced a milky burp, and then he dropped off, his head bobbing on top of his blubbery little chin.

"He looks very comfy," said David, his mouth only a couple of inches from Callie's ear. "He trusts you."

"No, it's the car. Puts him to sleep every time. Sometimes if he's fussy, we take him for a ride."

The traffic on the interstate was heavy. Callie looked past David out the small rear window. The scene grew darker as they passed Firebird Lake and headed out of town. Trucks blew past them, Zam changing lanes and softly cursing. The pitching of the car, the noise, the tight space began adding up, and an aching tightness gripped Callie's feet, her shoulders and neck, exacerbating the anger and doubt that still clawed at her. Miles passed, and interchanges with their lighted junk food stores. Finally, she reached up and tapped Zam on the shoulder. "Can we stop?"

The green highway sign said Jimmie Kerr Blvd. Zam followed the exit lane off and to the stop sign. He turned around and looked at Callie.

"I just need to get out for a minute. It's too tight back here."

Zam pulled onto the crossroad. Other than the cars on the freeway behind them, the area was dark and deserted. They went down the country road a couple hundred yards to a wide gravel area, where Zam pulled to a stop and shut off the car. Fiona got out and flipped her seat forward, but with the baby carrier there, Callie couldn't get through.

Zam stared at her for a moment. "Oh!" he finally said. He got out and David followed.

Finally Callie was free. She stumbled out on stiff legs. "Oh, God."

They all stood there under the stars, stretching and giggling in the chill breeze. Being there, with her friends, Callie felt absorbed into the night, the stars, and the dry desert air. Zam walked out toward the farm field beyond the edge of the lot, mumbling. Fiona followed him, or anyway walked in the same general direction. Beside her David had his shoulders hunched against the cold. He looked at her. "Well, can I ask now, where are we going?"

She turned toward him. "Fiona's aunt's house in Tucson. You and Zam are coming back tonight."

"You promise that's where you'll be?" He hitched up his shoulders. "You won't run off and hide?"

"I don't know. I'm beginning to wonder."

A puff of breeze pushed his bushy hair flat on one side. "Wonder what? I'm not here for anyone but you. I'm here cuz you're here."

Trucks roared on the freeway, muffled by distance and the wind. "I know."

"If you needed something you should have called me."

"I know, but I couldn't."

"You don't have to go. Your mom is not—"

"Don't say it," Callie muttered. "You don't know."

"But I do know!" He chopped at the air with his hand. "She doesn't want to give the baby up. That woman is trying to force her. But if you get loose, the orphan patrol will come and take him."

"All the more reason we should get him out of Phoenix."

"But that's more evidence against your mom—and you. You kidnap the baby, you're a danger to him. Then they'll take him for sure."

Zam and Fiona were back, walking together now.

Callie turned away and looked up at the stars again. Orion and the dog were headed west. These were the only constellations she knew, and she wondered if seeing them at that moment had any significance. The constellations move slowly in the sky. They would be there tomorrow night and the next and the next, a little farther along each time. And she would be here, too. But why, she wondered, did Orion have to be The Hunter? He looked as much like baby, laying on his back.

Boomsie sneezed and Callie turned back to the car. He was struggling, as if trying to crawl out of his clothes. Could be hungry again. She ducked into the car and immediately recognized the problem. She freed him from the baby seat, laid him down and popped open the bottom of his baby suit. It wasn't too bad this time, but very sharp in the close quarters of the car. She wiped him and dropped the wipes into the disposable diaper, then rolled it up into a softball, held closed by the side tapes. She dried his bottom with the cloth diaper she carried for drying his bottom, and wrapped him in the new Pamper, wondering if one Pampers is a Pamper or still a Pampers, like one moose is still a moose? She let him lay there for a moment to see if he resembled Orion, and her heart swelled unexpectedly. She had always wanted a little brother. Specifically a brother, not a sister. She had always thought a brother would make a perfect family with her mother and father and herself. Now he had come, and the family was so far from perfect. But now she had a brother, and they had a chance. After all that had happened in the last two months, or the last two years, they had a chance, and that was all you could expect.

Once she had him bundled up she wrapped him in his blanket and took him out to where her friends were gathered in front of the car. "I left the door open. We should let it air out a little."

They chuckled.

"Here." She tossed the little diaper softball into the middle of them. Zam reached out, then pulled back with a yelp. They all laughed, and Zam started to kick it toward the farm field, on his instep, like a soccer ball.

"No!" cried Fiona, and the game was on.

***

Jock had about decided that Anna Coliche did not have the baby. But now he had another angle on her he wanted to try out.

Her phone rang. She slipped it out of her pocket and glanced at it.

Jock challenged her. "Go ahead and answer it."

"No need." She laid the phone on the table.

"No, I really think you should answer it."

The conference room was suddenly silent as the loud music from outside ended in mid-beat.

"Why?"

That answer told Jock that he had her. She could have ignored him or told him to screw, but _Why?_ told him there was something she wanted. It was just an instinct, but Jock trusted his instincts. "Because if you don't answer it, I will suspect that you're in contact with the person who has the baby. Let's call him the kidnapper. Or her."

She gave him one of those cool, arch smiles that he was already beginning to like. "I don't care what you suspect."

"You should care, because without my consent, you have no chance of adopting that baby."

A little tic of amusement pulled at the corner of her mouth. " _That baby?_ No, you're not the father. I have no doubt about that."

Jock had to match her cool and just play the up-cards. "Should we get the law involved?"

"I don't see why not. I told you I don't have the child. I don't know who does."

A stratagem occurred to Jock. "That's right. You even offered to prove it."

"Yes, I did."

"Well, I'd like to take you up on that offer."

Her air of secret amusement turned markedly colder. "You're serious?"

Her phone rang again. She did not look at it, but her annoyance was evident. Jock had her cornered.

"Fine. Let's go." She stood.

Edouard looked up at her, and over at Jock. "Really?"

Jock held up a hand. "I'll be back shortly. I'll be in contact."

Anna snorted, but did not speak.

As they headed out the door, Jock said, "I'll drive."

Walking fast, she answered over her shoulder. "No, I'm not coming back here."

Jock reached out and brushed her arm. "I don't want to go to your house."

She turned.

"I want to go the adoption agency."

"The adoption... ?" A thin crust of disdain stiffened her face. "I'm sure they're closed."

"Are they?"

"I actually have no idea. But I'll go. It's not very far from here."

***

Michelle sat in the kitchen with all the lights on. Across from her, Boomer leaned forward, his forearms on the edge of the table, studying the screen of his Blackberry.

She had the lights on because she felt like being in a bright place, so her daughter would know she was home, waiting, if she happened by. It had been over an hour since Callie had called, and still Michelle had no idea exactly why she'd gone, or where. When her panic and despair index rose too high, she reminded herself that she trusted Callie, and not just because she had no choice. Early on, she and Craig had heard somewhere about the funnel theory of raising children. In this plan, parents were strict when children were young, so when they reached the wide end of the funnel, when they were given more freedom, they would stay straight on their own. That was the theory anyway, though it didn't really seem to make much sense at the moment. The thing she needed to trust was her instinct and her faith in her daughter, not her emotions.

The minutes ticked by, bogged down in deep, dry sand of rationalization. Michelle sighed. Boomer, head cocked, studying his comm device, did not notice.

"It's from David... All right!" Boomer looked at Michelle. "They turned around. They're coming home."

The surge of joy caused Michelle to sit up in her chair. "Turned around where? When will they be here?"

"Doesn't say." He showed her the phone.

It read: "Turned around. Headed home."

Headed home. Beautiful concept.

"Yet she didn't call me. I have to find this out from her friend, through you."

Boomer smiled at her, "Sometimes things get crooked between a parent and a child. But pretty soon they straighten out."

Michelle didn't need to be reassured about that. As soon as her kids were home, she'd be fine. But she wondered why he was so wise. "You sure you don't have kids?"

"No, no kids. But I have parents."

Michelle nodded. His little jokes helped, but only for a minute. This had been one of the worst days of her life, and she wanted desperately to understand what had happened. Could she just blame the whole thing on Edouard's ambition, Callie's stubborn but half-formed brain, and unofficial and official adoption agents? Or was it something in her life, and therefore in her, maybe something she couldn't control or even see?

Boomer had a grim expression on his face.

"What?" Panic scratched at her.

He shook his head. "Maybe this isn't the right time."

"For what?" Her panic gave way to annoyance.

"To tell you." He frowned.

"To tell me _what?_ " He really could be quite exasperating.

"No, it's not the right—"

If there was one thing Michelle hated, it was when someone teased something like that, and then held it back. "Tell me or I'll whack you with a frying pan."

He sighed. "You see, I don't have any kids, because... I don't have gonads."

Michelle stared at him, thunderstruck. "You don't have... why are you telling me this now?"

"I told you it wasn't the right time. I have no nads."

Michelle felt like she'd been slapped with a cold tilapia, but Boomer's serious face collapsed in a waterfall of giggles.

"No nads at all. An unfortunate accident with a Cosco stool when I was twelve." He couldn't go on, he was laughing so hard.

"You idiot." What a ridiculous thing to say. A Cosco stool. She reached out and took a swipe at him with her fist, but she was giggling rapturously and missed his face by a foot—or missed his foot by a face.

***

Jock slowed in front of the adoption office. There were no lights or signs of activity inside.

Anna chuffed. "I told you it was closed."

Jock didn't bother to act surprised. It had been a ploy, anyway. "That's alright. It gives us a chance to talk."

She did a slow take. "Say, what is this?"

Jock stopped the car. It was after seven now, dark, and the little parking lot was not busy. "You know how in 'Law & Order' there's always a scene where the lawyers discuss a deal, and the prosecutor says, 'Man One. And he does the minimum?'"

She looked mystified. How to explain?. There was a little neighborhood cocktail lounge at the other end of the shopping strip. Jock drove closer to it and pulled the car into a parking spot. "Come on. I'll buy you a drink."

The place was dark and quiet enough for a tete-a-tay. They sat in a booth on the far wall, not that there were that many people in there. Anna ordered a coke. Jock went with a James and water.

"So what do you want?" Her prickliness had been replaced with quiet suspicion.

"I believe you don't know anything about the baby."

"And I know you're not the papa."

Jock shrugged.

"Then we have nothing to talk about." She looked around as if getting ready to go.

Jock waited. When her eyes came back to him, he said, "I want you to be on the show."

"On what show?"

" _Fat Chance_. My show."

She laughed. "Is that your answer to everything? Put 'em on the show?"

Jock wasn't bothered. "Pretty much."

"Doing what on this show?"

"Being you, that's all. You're the new storyline. The ménage a twa. The other woman."

Her eyebrows shot up so high they almost dislodged her visor. "Whose other woman?"

"Edoo's. With Michelle."

"You're nuts," she barked.

But Jock let it sink in for a few minutes. In the back of the bar, pool bars clacked. A man at the bar said something funny to the fry cook and laughed. The cook remained impassive.

"It solves everything," Jock told her. "It gives them a hook that isn't her kids, and lets Michelle off the hook because her role gets smaller."

"That's a lot of hooks."

"And most important, Michelle gets her baby back."

"I don't have the baby."

"I believe you. And you aren't going to get it by trying to force it. It's just not going to happen. Michelle can get character witnesses lined up around the block. Starting with everyone on the show, Edouard..."

"That's a short block. Must be Tiny Town."

Jock laughed. "But in return, if you drop it, by which you lose nothing, you get a chance for a big prize, a platform to espouse the values and beliefs that move you."

"Oh, great. But you know, I am happily married, with three kids. I can't be seen on television having an affair."

This was the kind of area where non-television people got a little lost. Jock explained. "I'm perfectly happy if the affair is totally a misunderstanding. Nonaffairs that a couple are accused of having are a much better dramatic device than actual affairs. An actual affair is just plumbing. A _suspected_ affair is electricity. Suspicion, denial, things taken the wrong way. But in the end it's completely innocent."

"My husband may not see it that way."

"It's all in how you do it. Do you like animals?"

"Of course. Who doesn't?"

"Well, Edouard has been volunteering out at the shelter for a while, now. I don't suppose you ever volunteered out there?"

She looked annoyed. "No."

"But would you be willing to? See, that way, you're hanging around near Edouard, and it's all innocent and even noble, but if Michelle thinks you two are getting too close, that just shows that she's unreasonable and paranoid."

"She _is_ unreasonable and paranoid. How long have you been plotting this?"

"It struck me when we were sitting in that room with the music blasting."

She pulled off her visor and put it on the seat next to her. She ran her fingers through her thick mahogany hair. Jock felt a thrum of attraction. Too bad she was married. Happily married with three kids. That was the worst kind. When they mentioned the kids, it was always a sign to back off. But he would enjoy being around her.

She looked at him. "How do I get paid?"

## VII. PLAY THE FIGHT SONG

## CHAPTER NINETEEN

The idea was that Michelle would go shopping at a cheap store at a good mall. A cheap store to show she was economically depressed, a good mall to show she still had taste. With a camera crew in tow—doesn't everybody? Coming out of the store Michelle would see Edouard with the Dragon Lady and follow them as they went to a restaurant in the mall. She would then confront them in front of a crowd of gawking lunchers.

Michelle hated this idea instantly and completely, but the new storyline—the triangle between Michelle, Edouard, and the Horrible Hag—substituted for the one involving Callie or Baby Booms. A lot had happened in the two weeks since Callie's personal ditch day. Most important, Anna Coliche had agreed to drop her attempt at adopting Booms. Thus Michelle's primary goal had been realized, but her role on the show would be reduced substantially. In fact, Anna was now Edouard's partner, and Michelle was being recast as his cranky soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. So she couldn't win anything, though Jock had promised to extend her per diems through the end of the current shoot, and Edouard had agreed to give her twenty-five percent of whatever prize he got, which would probably be at least fifty thousand—$12,500 for Michelle. And she could sure use that.

So here she was, shopping away at the Burlington Coat Factory, the crew grabbing footage of her holding up a hideous green sweater, flipping through a rack of hangers. This was supposed to last a couple of minutes and then they would go out into the mall. But they kept on shooting, and crew members held up clothes, or hats, and made suggestions of what to do with them. Michelle had her own unstated idea what they could do with them.

The makeup lady walked up to Jock and whispered something to him. Jock waved his hands and announced, "He's late. Biscuit."

Michelle felt a surge of unscripted anger. Biscuit was the crew's name for Edouard, for whatever reason.

They all repaired to the van where they sat and waited, the front windows and back sliding door open to the warm November day. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes.

The delay was sweet agony for Michelle. As much as she didn't want to do the scene, knowing she would make a complete ass of herself, she had steeled herself to get it over with. And now she had to wait to do even that. No one, certainly not Michelle, knew exactly how the story would play out. Michelle assumed that would be determined largely by who asserted their personality more. Most likely they would make Michelle a shrew, hounding an innocent Edouard and pushing him into the arms of his formerly platonic friend.

This wasn't the only potentially painful scene she had scheduled today. Craig would be at the football game tonight to watch Callie play in the band. That would be another reality show. The end of her marriage to Craig had been a dance fever of deceptions and dares. Michelle had told her husband the truth and it had cost her a whole lot. She faced a similar dilemma now. He knew she'd had a baby, and would want to know more. She didn't owe Craig the truth—he couldn't possibly think less of her. But maybe she owed it to herself, because telling the truth was a way of standing up for yourself, being strong. At least that's what she'd always heard.

Jock's phone chattered and he held it to his ear.

"They're here," he nodded. "Biscuit team picked them up at the mall entrance."

"Oh, god." Michelle took a deep breath.

The crew piled out of the van, and they all broke into a trot across the parking lot. Jock had his wireless headset on and began a bouncing conversation with the leader of Team Biscuit, now following Edouard and the Demoness. He called out, "Front of Victoria's Secret."

They were all ahead of Michelle now, except Donna. "Great!" Michelle panted. "I get to stand in front of giant posters of nude supermodels! Hell of a shot!"

Donna hooked Michelle's arm and gently pulled her to a stop. "Let's slow down. You don't want to be out of breath." She held up a bottle. "Water?"

"Yeah." Michelle stopped and drank. Donna examined her with serious, dark eyes, and Michelle was glad of it. Someone had to make sure she looked okay, and she trusted Donna. She held up the bottle. "Can I keep this?"

Donna nodded. With feather strokes of her fingers Donna smoothed makeup around Michelle's eyes and whisked a stray hair off her forehead.

A burst of panic fluttered in Michelle. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy."

Donna gave her a bracing squeeze of the shoulders and steered her toward the mall entrance. "Just remember, whatever happens or whatever anyone says, you are in the right. That's true in your life, it's true right now, and it'll be true on the show. You are always fighting to do what's right for your son and daughter. That may never be specifically seen in the show, but character comes through in every situation, and you've got it, sister."

The strong, seemingly heartfelt words of support warmed Michelle. "Really? You understand that? You're not just..."

"I understand." Donna's friendly face crinkled with warmth. "I agree with everything you've done, even though I don't know everything. You are emotionally right and true."

"But I'm still going to look like a total dingbat on TV."

"Don't worry." Donna touched Michelle's hair, and straightened her collar. "We've got a filter for that. Shall we stroll down there now?"

"Okay." Michelle was as ready as she was going to get. They entered the cool, echoey space of the mall.

"Remember, a new movie starts every fifteen seconds."

That sounded right, though Michelle couldn't explain why.

"Editing, y'know." Donna cackled.

***

_Now it begins_. That phrase, with its portentous ring, flitted across Edouard's frontal lobe. He sat with Anna Coliche in the booth at the Asian Grill, in the wafting aroma of hot soy and broiling chicken. It had taken them nearly an hour to get here, walking slowly down the mall, looking in store windows, seeing Michelle out of the corner of his eye, trailing them. Now he held Anna's hand for the cameras as he told her about his relationship problems with Michelle. Her hand felt dry, and holding it felt unnatural. He resented having to do all this dramatic heavy lifting only because Michelle had thwarted him at every turn. All he ever wanted was to be the reality TV father, simple and strong—just be an ideal version of himself, really.

Now, because of Michelle's stubbornness, he had to have a TV romance with this strange and intimidating woman. This was really acting, and it scared him. Holding her hand and saying a line, he knew almost exactly what she was going to say in response, but he had to be able to listen to it like it was news, somehow, like he wasn't expecting her to say what she said. How the hell do you do that?

She fixed her eyes on him with an intensity even scarier than anything he'd seen from her before. But then he had been around her, what, maybe two hours sum total? The fictional back-story was that they met as co-volunteers at Animal Rescue, drawn together by their love of animals. Edouard had actually been at Animal Rescue for two years, so that part was true. But Anna had only volunteered last week.

"We hardly know each other, really." Her voice had an odd breathlessness.

"I'd like to change that." As soon as he said it, Edouard knew it was too rushed. Anna blinked and looked around the restaurant. Edouard shook himself, trying to relax his shoulders. He wasn't supposed to be putting moves on her, just innocently flirting. He tried again. "I guess I just need someone to talk to. We never do that anymore, Michelle and me."

Anna smiled because he got it right. "That's what friends are for." Her glance flitted over his shoulder, and Edouard could sense Michelle and the other camera coming in the door behind him. The lunch crowd had pretty well cleared out by now, and the remaining diners and dawdling staff seemed to enjoy watching the crew handle the hi-tech equipment and the choreography of recording the scene. There was the shoulder camera, and the little handheld. Sound guys, and Mac the Light with his battery powered light diffuser, or whatever it was called. And Zam hanging around the fringes, holding equipment.

Cameras swung as Michelle approached the table and stood before Edouard and Anna. "I saw you in the mall," said Michelle. "I tried to get your attention but you ignored me."

Just the little implied criticism stoked Edouard's resentment. And to think, he was paying her out of his share. "I didn't see you."

"Well, you were paying attention to this lady." Michelle barely glanced at Anna.

Edouard made the introduction. He tried to hide his irritation with Michelle.

"How very nice to meet you." Anna's odd, snooty inflection surprised Edouard.

Michelle ignored the greeting, staring at Edouard with blazing eyes. "I've been trying to call you. You're not answering."

As Edouard fished for a believable answer, Anna interrupted. "Stop playing games. We know each other."

Edouard felt a little funhouse tickle in his gut. Anna smiled malevolently at Michelle.

Michelle sat down on the very end of the booth seat, next to Edouard, eyes wide with surprise, clearly ready to bolt. "I..."

"You don't remember." With a hint of a sad smile, a minute movement of the head, Anna drenched the simple phrase in meaning.

"Of course I remember." Michelle clasped her hands on the table and stared at them. Anna stared at Edouard until he looked at her. "We were best friends in college."

"Really?" said Edouard. Really? Again he felt torn. Was he to be real, or ham it up? First he had to find out what was going on. He turned to Michelle, who said nothing, but clearly had something on her mind. A second passed, or maybe it was five minutes. Edouard noticed a young couple at a table in his line of sight, beyond Michelle's left shoulder, staring at the scene, looking superior.

"Until I found out the kind of person you really are," said Anna. "You stole a boy from me, and you didn't even really want him." The words were sharp, but her voice was dull, as if the painful memory she described had long since healed, leaving only a scar.

"I don't remember it that way." Michelle met her gaze. "As I recall, he wasn't _yours_ to start with. But you didn't want to hear it. That was more or less your personality then. No one could tell you _no_."

"You always were expert at giving unwanted advice." Anna's breathless purr utterly failed to hide her malice.

Edouard watched in total fascination, with no idea what part of this was true, and what was play acting. The Asian Grill waiter and hostess stood next to the cash register counter, watching silently. They looked Mexican, not Chinese.

"So for that—" Michelle's contempt seemed real enough, "—you're, what, trying to get your hooks into my fiancé?"

It took Edouard a second to remember that by _fiancé_ she meant himself.

Anna stared at Michelle for a moment longer, and turned to Edouard. "Like I said, we know each other."

Edouard felt himself struggling to keep up. He looked at Michelle. "She's not trying to get me." He almost said, _who would want me_ , but no, he had to try to maintain some kind of character. _Innocent flirtation! Innocent flirtation!_ "People from the shelter come here all the time for lunch. There's nothing we're doing here that should give you a problem."

There was a pause. All activity in the restaurant seemed to have come to a stop.

Staring at Michelle, Anna said, "I don't suppose you told him."

Michelle turned her gaze away. "Told him?"

"About your affair?"

There was a new burst of attention in the crew all around Edouard. Ears perking up, necks straightening. Did everyone but him know a secret that was being revealed here? He felt like a guest at some nasty little family party.

"I didn't have an affair." Michelle's voice twanged with suppressed fury.

Anna chuckled. "That's not what Rupert says."

Michelle jumped up. "What do you mean, Rupert?"

Now Edouard was sure he was lost. "Rupert?"

An amused curl in her smile, Anna replied, " _Rupert!_ "

Turning to Jock, Michelle laughed nervously. "Was that good enough?"

Jock grinned. "Fine! Fine. Are you okay?"

Michelle laughed again. "You know how when I do these things, then I blow up and run off to hide my... whatever?"

"Yes." Jock nodded, still smiling. "Yes, I've seen you do that."

"Well, I'm doing it again." She turned. "Zam. Do you have your car here?

Zam glanced at Jock, nervous. "Yeah, sure."

"Can you give me a ride home?"

Jock cut in. "We can give you a ride. But wait, don't break yet, don't stop! We need to finish this."

"No!" Michelle raised her arms in a fending motion, walking away. "No. I'd rather go with him, if nobody minds. You all can continue with the fun and games, and find out all about Rupert."

"Yes, who the hell is Rupert?" Jock pleaded.

Michelle leaned on the table, looking squarely at Anna. "I thought I could steal him from the sea. But he never said he would stay. And he was a truthful man." Michelle had done an exit anyway. She spun away from the cameras, from Edouard and Anna, and stalked out the door.

Edouard sat there, watching her go. He wasn't even sure what she'd said. It sounded so off, he wondered if this was some prearranged bit of business that no one had told him about.

Jock nodded and Zam followed Michelle out of the Asian Grill. Tapping his throat with the edge of his hand, Jock looked around the group. "Let's take ten. Lip 'em if you got 'em." Cameras and mikes came down. The crew shuffled around a little, finding seats, checking equipment.

Edouard stared at Anna. "So, who's Rupert?"

She seemed distracted, almost in a trance. "What? Oh, you know."

"No. No idea."

"Rupert!" she huffed, fully engaged now. "You know, some guy. Rupert, Reuben, Robin Hood. The guy she had an affair with, if she had an affair. She cheated on you, didn't she?"

It took Edouard a moment to calculate his response. The cameras were off now. No one but Anna was listening. "So the whole thing was baloney? Did you two just make it up on the spot?"

"Yeah, of course. I came up with it, she just responded in an obvious way. Not bad, I guess. Not great, but not bad." Anna put on her sunglasses. "But I felt real anger. I just think it's a contemptible thing to put your own selfishness ahead of a baby's welfare."

Edouard bit his tongue. Michelle was many things, including constantly infuriating. But she was not contemptible. "No. She knows what the baby needs. You could give him a lot, but Michelle has what he needs."

The woman shook her head, clearly determined not to waste any more time arguing with him.

***

Callie stood before them. Mommy 101, all twelve girls in the classroom. Miss Monica stood off to the side, waiting with the pediatric nurse who was the one they were supposed to be listening to. Callie had asked for this time to speak, she wanted to speak, and in a minute she would. But right now she was fascinated by the nurse's uniform. Callie was about to seal her fate as a liar, a psycho, actually, just about the most 'orrid person ever... it really wasn't so much a uniform as a powder blue jogging suit. Maybe it was the white tennis shoes that made her think of jogging.

Callie glanced at the girls. They were still there, sitting around her in their chairs, waiting. After one more glance at Miss Monica and the nurse, she took a deep breath. "So here's what happened."

She told the whole story in about four sentences. It was news to all of them. Callie expected cries of astonishment, accusations of betrayal, but they all just sat there. These were girls she felt like she had grown close to, but she could not gauge their reaction, because they didn't react. Callie expected, or hoped, that at this point Miss Monica would step up and say something like, _so that's really wrong, don't ever do that_. Then Callie could leave and never come back.

But Miss Monica just stood there, her expression expressing neither encouragement nor disappointment.

"You what?" Angelique finally broke the silence.

"My mom was going to give him up, so I practically adopted him. Of course you can't really adopt your own brother. But I told her I would do everything a mother does if we kept him."

"But your mom still does most of the work," said Genesis. "Mine does."

There were giggles. The heat of her shame threatened to broil Callie right as she stood there. "Yeah, sure," she said. "I know. And I know what I did was truly... that you all have dealt with so much, but... at least I got to come here, and I got to know you all. I'm grateful for that, no matter what."

"Wait." Bunny raised her hand. " _That's_ your problem?"

"Yeah."

Bunny's stiff black bangs wagged her impatience. "That you dint have a baby? That is very weak." More giggles. "You brought that here? You made it up so we'd think you're some kind of hero."

"No!" Callie yelped. "Anything but!"

Bunny glanced at the teacher. "You shouldn't let her do that, Miss Monica. Not fair!"

## CHAPTER TWENTY

Michelle sat on a wooden patio chair in the little enclosed space that opened off the living room. She held Booms in the angle of her arm. One thing about him, he always wanted to be looking forward, not back over the shoulder like some babies, and that had been true right from the start, from six days old.

The patio was shaded by a big mulberry whose thick trunk rose from a little strip of dirt near the fence. At some point long ago, it had bent west over the property line of the next condo and kept growing. Previous owners had accommodated themselves to this by building a wooden fence with a hole in it along the property line, and the tree had grown into a large canopy that arched over both patios and the alley behind them.

Callie bounced around the living room in her blue and orange band uniform, the short matador jacket unbuttoned. She carried a zipper bag with her dress and shoes in it, for the dance after the game. The sight of Callie in the uniform stirred a sense of guilt and dread in Michelle. After she'd almost run off with the baby, Callie and Michelle had gone through a horrible week shooting at one another, Michelle full of hopelessness and self-loathing. When things couldn't get worse, Michelle had finally told Callie the truth about Boomsies' father, about the Fiesta Bowl marching band contest. No wonder that story had come so quickly to Michelle's lips. Callie hadn't been seduced by the cornetist from Kokomo. But Michelle had met the boy's father at the marching band banquet, and after Callie had left with her friends, Michelle had drunk too much, or maybe better to say she'd drunk just enough, and gone back to the father's motel room, and... and then he'd gone back to Saginaw or Terre Haute or Ypsilanti or wherever no doubt pleased with himself and carefree as a Midwestern meadowlark.

Callie's response to this dire confession was basically nothing. She didn't care how Baby Boomer arrived in their house, just that he had. And Michelle's confession had somehow become part of the tenuous, halting healing between mother and daughter. But what Michelle had to tell Callie now did not have a bouncing baby outcome. It would be unrelievedly painful and shaming. It was The story of how Michelle had destroyed their family.

Callie slid open the arcadia door. "Well, I'm just waiting for David." She walked out and sat in the chair next to Michelle. She reached for Booms and held him on her lap. "Yes, I am!" she blubbered. "Yes, I am!"

The baby grabbed her face with both hands. Callie sighed. "I told the class."

"How did it go?"

Callie cocked her head, waiting for the right words to bubble up. "Okay, I guess. I was mortified. But no one seemed to care. They were like, we're so over that, and who _are_ you?"

"Really?" Michelle didn't know whether to be grateful for their forgiveness or appalled at the cynicism of kids today. "Well, I think you did the right thing. I hope they'll go easy on you."

"I don't know why they shouldn't." Callie said it quietly, with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. "I didn't do anything wrong. I know that, though no one else seems to understand. Just because I didn't play by quote unquote the rules."

Michelle and Callie had reconciled much of the conflict between them, but this was a new divide. The listless and angry daughter had become positive and energized by the rollercoaster ride of fact and fiction they'd been on. So despite the stress and fear, the overall experience had been good. And Michelle had a beautiful new son, a new relationship, and felt more positive herself in many ways. The consequences of her lies had all been good, too.

And that bothered her. It had been wrong, it had been untruthful, and sooner or later the consequences of that would sneak up and get her. She knew it. That was the divide. Callie thought they had done right. Or anyway, she had done right, and in her benevolence, she was willing to grant pardon to her mother. Michelle knew that somewhere, sometime, a cosmic, karmic shoe was sure to drop on her life, a big, muddy, stinky farmer's workboot of retribution and consequence. But you can't make a fifteen-year-old see that. So, in a way, thank God for fifteen.

Callie's phone buzzed and she got up, handing back the baby. She kissed him, pecked Michelle, and headed for the door. "See you at the game!"

"We'll look for you before."

"How much are you going to tell him?

Michelle had considered this question at length without deciding. She said simply, "I'll tell him what he needs to know."

Callie let out a big sigh. "Okay. I'll see you before the game. On the track near the entrance."

And she was gone.

***

"Well," said Michelle, presumably to Booms. "There she goes, and I didn't say anything. This isn't the right time anyway."

The baby gave her a slanty-eyed look that could be taken as disbelief.

"Oh!" She snuzzled him. "Inquiring minds want to know?"

He laid his head on the softness of her breast, now returned to normal, thank god.

"Well, the twenty-five cent version is this." Michelle bent her head over his, and spoke low and steady, like a bedtime story. "Callie thinks that I divorced Craig because he had an affair with his secretary, and I did, and he did. But what she doesn't know is that before that happened, I met a man. I had an affair of my own. It didn't mean anything. It was very short, but it came first. And it changed everything. It killed our marriage. After that it was only a matter of time 'til Craig went to bed with his secretary, or his dental hygienist. Somebody."

Michelle glanced up as a couple of yellow leaves drifted down from the mulberry to the patio. She leaned down—how nice to be able to do that again—and picked one up. She held it against her cheek. Still soft. "I guess that's why, when I found out I had you inside me, I tried to believe you were Edouard's son and we would get married, and on and on. But deep down, I knew where you came from. I just couldn't admit it." She had to close her eyes for a moment. "I just couldn't believe that the first thing I did after the divorce was go sluttin' around again with a stranger. A band parent. And I never asked him if he was married or a serial killer or a serial screwer. I didn't ask him anything because I didn't want to know." She leaned closer to his ear and whispered, "That's not who I am."

Boomsie reached for her face, but she straightened up out of reach. "So once I did it, I was so ashamed that I lied and lied and omitted and committed and denied and twisted and recruited my own child to enable me. And then I didn't even have the guts to go through with that lie. So more lying, more twisting, more insanity. Therefore you can easily see, I'm as guilty as can be."

She opened the baby's clutched fist and slid the stem of the leaf into it. He held it but showed no particular interest. She looked up into the pattern of green and yellow above her, blinking back tears, and thought of life and death and renewal blah, blah, blah. Not a very original line of thought for an autumn afternoon under a shedding tree.

She saw herself up in the tree, hanging, looking down at the leaves below that had already fallen to the ground. Then a leaf on the next branch over–—an acquaintance, no more than that—let go, and slid sideways, then twirling, to the patio below, landing on another leaf, practically covering it. Michelle looked at the leaves below and the leaves around and above her. They all knew they were headed down. At that point, no one cared that leaf Rosie screamed at her kids or leaf Nancy drank herself stupid or leaf Michelle sought solace in the arms of strange male leaves on this night or that night. They would all be gone soon. No one gets to stay beyond the season, and who would want to? Clear out for the next bunch. There would be no point in Michelle telling Callie about her old failings. Better just to concentrate on mending her new failings, and their results.

She bounced the boy on her lap, and his arms waved. The motion made the yellow leaf wave, and he finally seemed to see it, though it had been at the end of his arm for a while.

***

The baby wore a tiny Washington Redskins sweatshirt, and Boomer wondered, why the Redskins? It was a long way to Washington, and a long time since the Redskins were good. Michelle repeatedly pulled the sweatshirt down, and tucked the little hood around his head, but it was only about sixty degrees, so frostbite would be a while in coming.

The baby took in the lights and the faces without surprise. Boomer had a similar attitude about the evening. He was only mildly interested in the drama of Michelle seeing her ex. They had stood on the track for a few minutes, and run out of small talk. Both Michelle and Callie were on edge.

Michelle glanced at Boomer. "We could go up in the stands."

"No, don't." Callie adjusted her plumed hat. "Just wait with me." She focused on Booms and shook the feather on her hat. "Do you like that?"

"She's not coming," said Michelle.

Boomer knew this meant the girlfriend. Callie was not fond of her.

"I know, but I can't just stand here alone. If you're with me, it just works better."

Most of the band was out on the field, in unorganized groups. Kids and parents milled around aimlessly on the track and the sidewalk, and few people had gone up into the stands. "He came down from Show Low?" Boomer ventured. "Is he spending the weekend in town?"

Michelle shrugged. Callie nodded.

A tall man in a blue fleece jacket and glasses walked toward them. Callie reached out and gave him a bear hug. He hugged and patted her awkwardly, a big, crinkly smile on his face. "Hello, hello. Oh my!" He smiled at the baby. "Well, aren't you so cute!"

Michelle waved the baby's hand. Craig smiled at both of them, and stuck his hand out at Boomer. "Hello, I'm Craig."

Boomer gripped the hand. "Hi. Boomer Sigursky."

"Oh, yeah. I know your _name_. Nice to meet you."

Boomer knew what he meant. He was a little embarrassed by the baby's nickname, and tried to avoid using it. "They started using the name when they never thought they would never see me again."

Craig appeared thoughtful, and Boomer realized he might not know how the baby had been born.

"Yeah," said Michelle. "We're going back to Jerry."

Craig registered surprise. "Jerry Junior?"

"No." The question obviously annoyed Michelle. "Just Jerry."

"I actually like Boomer as a name." Craig turned to Boomer. "Jerry, her father, gave me a pretty hard time. I don't recall him fondly."

"Well, thank God we don't have to worry about that anymore." Michelle said drily. She turned to Boomer. "He's dead." She laughed. "I mean my father."

"Nice, Mom," said Callie.

This awkward exchange stumbled into an embarrassed silence. Michelle rallied. "Doesn't Callie look good? She's made some big changes."

"Yes, yes." Craig seemed unconvinced. "I can see. Have you lost weight?"

"Yes, quite a bit, actually. Under this uni, I'm ripped!" She bent her arm and clenched her fist. "Feel?"

Craig squeezed her arm. "You're right." His smile seemed to be permanently plastered to his face, almost a grimace. Out of the side of his mouth he said. "So, still on the TV show?"

"No," said Michelle.

"I wondered if you would have the baby on TV. No?"

His a-hole rating rose every time he opened his mouth. Michelle said nothing.

Callie pawed his arm. "That's not nice, Dad. She's not even a contestant anymore."

"Really? Oh, I didn't mean to suggest anything. I just don't know how these reality shows work. Never even seen one."

"In fact, I delivered the baby," said Boomer.

"You did?" Craig's entire expression bounced upward in surprise. "You're a..."

"That's right. A fireman."

"Oh! Uh, so where..."

"Right in the bedroom." Michelle took Boomer's arm. "Home birthed, home schooled, home fed on home-cooked meals. We do it all."

"You're being funny, but surely you knew the risks."

"No, I knew what I was doing. And what I could afford."

"But surely you wouldn't have a baby if you couldn't afford it."

"No, Shirley's your secretary, remember?" Michelle nudged Boomer. "He's still twitterpated over her."

Callie gave her a hard look. "Just stop it, both of you."

But Craig had his back up now. "I don't know what you can or can't afford. I'm out of the picture. I would think the man would be responsible—but that's not you, right?"

"No." Boomer was undisturbed. "I'm not the father."

"I know it's awkward, having one man's baby, and being with another. But you've got to hold his feet to the fire."

"Whose feet?" said Michelle.

"The producer. That's who it is, right?

Michelle and Callie broke into giggles. "No dear," said Michelle. "He's not, and we're fine. Don't worry your pretty little head." She turned to Boomer. "Let's go find our seats and leave these two alone."

"Alright." Boomer nodded. He had been holding onto a joke. It wasn't a great joke, and he had held onto it out of respect for the family situation, since he was really just an observer here. But he cared enough about Michelle that he wanted their relationship to grow. And somehow he knew the joke would help that. He held Michelle's arm to keep her from leaving, and addressed all of them. "I've got a suggestion about the name."

Michelle and Callie gave him the identical arched eyebrow.

"Since he's Michelle's son, you could call him Mitch, with a t, or just M-I-C-H, for Michelle, like Michelle, Junior. But she doesn't like that name. So how about S.O.M?"

As Boomer hoped, Craig took the bait. "S.O.M?"

"Yeah. Son Ofa Mich."

Boomer took Michelle's arm and led her away. Don't wait for the laugh. Never wait.

***

Callie marched down the forty-yard line. She blew hard on the second sax part of "September," an old, peppy number that she liked. It always sounded bright. Poppin.'

It was the last football game of the year. The band would not be going to the Fiesta Bowl band competition this year. Graduation last spring had decimated the percussion section, and the band just wasn't the same. You couldn't lose a glockenspiel player like Debbie Arthur and not feel it. So tonight would be pretty much it for marching shows.

Her mother had sat up straight when Callie mentioned the Fiesta Bowl competition, even though she had only told her that the band wasn't going back. Callie knew why she had reacted, but Callie didn't care what had or hadn't happened there last year. After all the turmoil, the status quo had been restored, if anyone was paying attention. Callie would still be Booms' mother to the outside world, and she still would not name a father. People might say she was a teenage unwed mother, or they might say she was a lying sack of moldy buttwipes. They were free to do so.

Callie followed her column diagonally back to form the top hooky part of the big squared-off C in the middle of the field. The director stabbed the finito and Callie lowered the mouthpiece of her alto as the last note of the song floated off in the breeze. The stands were almost full tonight because it was homecoming. Almost full was about as full as they ever got, and maybe half the crowd clapped for the band's effort. Maybe half a crowd was about as much as ever clapped. So that was pretty good. The band uniform was close to comfortable in the cool evening, so that was pretty good, too. And she was going to the homecoming dance with David, and that was very, very good.

It would be a little weird because David and the Mommy 101 crew were the only ones for sure who knew that she was not a mother, that she had not been deflowered by the bassoonist from Battle Creek, or anyone else from anywhere else. David knew that she was innocent, inexperienced, and fresh, not used, soiled, unwed, abandoned or any of those other things that unwed mothers were labeled with. David had told her that he would not lie to keep her un-sordid past a secret, but he also didn't seem to mind not correcting anyone who had the wrong idea— or rather the right idea.

One reason Callie attracted less interest now was that she no longer looked pregnant. She had lost almost twenty pounds in three months, so she looked almost normal, if not actually pretty. Callie knew she would never be pretty. She just didn't want to be dumpy. Once one achieved a certain minimum standard, it was vain and silly to obsess over one's looks. There was so much more to life, darling.

And it was important to Callie that she was not running and hiding from the lie of her pregnancy, and she was not turning her back on her old pals from Mommy 101. She would stand proudly with them, if they would have her, as an example of the dignity that could not be denied, the pride of motherhood. Because motherhood was a job, not an adventure, and she was going to take care of Booms, or Jerry, or whatever other name he ended up with, as much as ever. And she could do so with an easy heart now that she was sure that her mother was not going nuts and the baby was not going to be adopted. Her mother and Jerry and Callie had a chance to be a normal, happy family now. And who knew, maybe Boomer Sr., now just plain Boomer, EMT, would be a part of them, too.

She scanned the crowd for her mother and the baby in his little maroon jacket. They should be easy to spot, but Callie could not pick them out. The baby would be facing her—he always wanted to look forward, to see where he was going, not where he had been. For a little baby he was very wise. You couldn't march ahead by looking back.

The director raised his hands to start the fight song. This was where they would definitely miss the glockenspiel, but Debby Arthur had gotten a scholarship and gone off to college. You couldn't stand around and moon about that. You had to move on. It was homecoming night and you had to have the fight song, with or without the glockenspiel.

THE END
