by Piper Rayne
We both turn our heads, finding him hugging the poop emoji to himself. He almost looks angelic, but yesterday’s demon eyes aren’t forgotten. There’s definitely a Jekyll to his Hyde.
“Layla, I want you to take the part. Half because of the investor and half because you seem really excited about the role and I think you could do a good job of it. But a nanny, or manny, I am not. Does he wear a diaper? I have no idea how to put those on, and I shouldn’t be cleaning him up… down there.”
She laughs and her perfectly bleached teeth glow like the sunshine on an early morning.
“He’s been potty-trained since two and a half.”
“Okay, but still. I’m not qualified.”
“You wouldn’t have the baby. I’d keep her in daycare. It would just be Payne and only until I could find something else. A week, tops.” The desperation in her voice already has me caving.
“Look, I’m not your guy. I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a four-year-old.”
She reaches across the table and grips my hand in hers. “Please. I can’t bail on this job when we’re already halfway through filming. It’ll make me look unprofessional, cost the studio money, and I’ll never get another job again.”
I shake my head. “Layla, I can’t.”
She releases my hands and slumps back against her seat. “But you stayed,” she near-whispers.
I push my coffee aside, not needing any more caffeine to make me more anxious. My heart’s already trying to catch up to the adrenaline pumping through my arteries. “Stayed?”
“You have to be a good guy. When the nanny left, you didn’t pawn Payne off on someone else. You didn’t come looking for me somewhere. You didn’t even force him to open the door. You just sat outside and waited. He told me about how you talked to him through the door.” She’s smiling again, one that reminds me of someone reliving a fond memory.
“I might know enough not to leave a kid by himself, but I’ll probably swear in front of him.”
“He’s heard it all. Just don’t let him use them.”
“I could lose him somewhere. I’m used to being by myself.”
“Payne isn’t a drifter. He sticks close to the hip.”
“My apartment is full of glass and breakables.”
“You can watch him at my place.”
She smiles again and my gaze drifts to the counter.
“Are you going to give me an answer to every reason?”
She nods.
“So in order for you to take the part…”
“You need to be his manny.”
“You’ll be working on finding someone else?”
“Yep, and then I’ll be sure to have someone before shooting starts on your film, too.”
The waitress comes over with a coffee pot, but I decline nicely, whereas Layla takes another cup.
“You don’t even know me,” I say.
“My manager did a police check on you last night.”
“You did a police check on me without asking?”
She smiles, placing her spoon on the shredded napkin on the table. “Of course. Do you think I’d let some weirdo watch my son?”
My heart rate picks up. Even though I know it would take an extensive background check to ever connect the two.
“One week, Layla, and I can’t make any promises about how he’ll be after that week. He could be swearing as much as a truck driver, hopped up on sugar, and have thumb callouses from video games.”
She laughs like I’m kidding. “So that’s a yes?” she asks, a contagious smile on her face.
“It’s an ‘I guess.’ Under protest.”
Her hands clap together and she bounces in her seat a little before calming back down.
“Thank you, Vance. I owe you.” The sincerity in her voice tells me she means it.
“Just do one hell of a job on this film.”
“I will. I promise. I’ll text you my address. You’re a lifesaver.”
Then we sit in silence as I contemplate what I just agreed to and whether or not I even had a choice not to accept. I don’t think so. Did I? I shouldn’t have helped the kid with the toy. I shouldn’t have put on that big-brother act, but I was trying to win Layla over so she’d take the part, not trying to apply for her nanny position.
I can handle anything for a week. Seven days. Easy-peasy. This kid thinks he’s tough but I can be a drill sergeant if I have to be. If one of us is going to break, it isn’t going to be me.
Chapter 8
Vance
“You’re going to be her manny?” The questioning tone in Leo’s voice makes me lose some of my earlier confidence. Could I really screw this kid up in a matter of days?.
“But she agreed to take on the role, right?” Jagger takes a bite of his taco.
“Yeah, she agreed.” I push my plate away, for once not in the mood to eat.
Jagger and Leo went surfing this morning so I stopped here to meet up with them for lunch. Lucky for us, Heidi is off today, so we can have a conversation without Leo and I having to witness the endless flirting between her and Jagger.
“I don’t get it. Why can’t she find someone else?” Leo’s still questioning why I would agree to something like this and I can’t say I blame him, but I’m exhausted from talking about it and don’t care to go into details.
“If he wants his film made, he needs to do whatever it takes to get her to accept the role. If the manny is her ultimatum, then being the manny is it.” Jagger takes a quick swig of his beer and then points it in my direction. “Call me when you head to the park with the little guy, okay?” He winks over another mouthful of taco.
“So you can reap the benefits of my hard work? Hell, no. I’ll be the one handing out my phone number to the ladies.”
“Pfft,” Leo says. “A kid has nothing on a dog, man. You should see all the flirting that happens when I take Cooper to the dog park.”
We all laugh because we’ve all seen how his dog acts like a pussy magnet.
“It’s just the boy? How old is he?” Leo asks. Forget the doggy spa and clothing line he owns—this guy should be on 60 Minutes interviewing people.
“He’s four. Layla has a daughter, too, but she’s still really young, so she’ll be in daycare.” I take a sip of my beer, staring out into the ocean and letting the hypnotic vision of the waves rolling into shore over and over again relax me a bit.
I was on my way to join these guys when I got Layla’s text this morning. I should’ve gone surfing instead of meeting her. It would have given her extra time to find a nanny.
“She has two kids? Isn’t she like seventeen?” Leo’s face distorts and I laugh at his lack of knowledge of the biz. The man spends most of his time sewing clothes for dogs.
“She’s twenty-eight.”
“Really?” His eyes bug out. “I guess I can’t picture her as anything other than the little sister on that show she was on.”
I nod and so does Jagger.
“Growing Up Baxter, right?” He snaps his fingers and points to me. “That’s it. She still as hot as she was back then?”
“She’s fucking gorgeous,” Jagger says before I can answer and for some reason his response bothers me. “She was married to Carver Sterling.”
“She was married to her brother?” The distaste on his face is clear.
Leave it to Leo.
“They’re actors,” I remind him.
He tilts his head and gives me the ‘no shit’ face. “They still played brother and sister for years. That’s gross.”
“You do know…” Jagger looks up at me and shakes his head. “Never mind.”
“So you think she’s gorgeous?” Leo throws his balled-up napkin on the plate and pushes it away from him.
“Jagger said that.” I point to Jagger, but both their gazes land on me. “Jagger thinks the fifty-year-old librarian down the street is hot,” I say with a laugh.
“She’s a total MILF, dude,” Jagger says. “Get your head out o
f your dog’s ass for once and you might notice shit like that.”
Leo rolls his eyes at Jagger and turns his attention to me. “So? Is she pretty?” He says ‘pretty’ with a childish tone and bats his eyes for emphasis.
“Yeah, she’s pretty.”
Jagger smiles and Leo leans forward on the table.
“You like her?” he asks.
I shrug. “She seems nice. Lives one crazy-ass life. Two kids, a soon-to-be ex-husband who doesn’t give a shit. I kinda feel bad for her.”
That’s the truth. It was impossible not to notice the bags under her eyes no matter the amount of cover-up she’d put on, or the fact that her eyes were bloodshot and her movements all had a worn-out quality to them. She’s permanently tired and half the reason I agreed to help her was to give the woman a break. I need her to be her best for my film.
“Uh-huh.” Leo purses his lips, nodding his head. “You like her.”
I throw my napkin at him, hitting him square on the forehead. “This isn’t junior high.”
My two friends look at one another. “He likes her,” they say in unison.
“I’m out of here.” I stand and tuck my chair back in.
“Going to get toys to impress the kid?” Leo asks.
“Conference call tomorrow at ten with the investor.” Jagger wipes his face and disposes of his napkin on his plate, letting his tie fall back down in front of him. He’s the only guy I know who changes into his designer suit as soon as he’s done surfing so he can head into the office.
“I have the kid tomorrow.”
He shrugs. “Give him your phone and he’ll be quiet. I’ve seen my clients do it a million times.”
I nod, turning around to leave the restaurant.
For some reason, Payne doesn’t seem like a kid who can be distracted by a phone, but I pray that Jagger’s right.
The next day at seven in the morning I knock on Layla’s front door so that I can start my first shift as The Manny. I would’ve thought I’d be more nervous than I am, but I figure he’s just a kid. How hard can watching a kid who can talk, walk and feed himself be, really?
The door swings open and Layla stands there, her hair askew, still in what looks to be her pajamas with some type of crusted food implanted right between her tits. Her eyes are wide and she’s panting hard as if she just finished running the New York marathon.
“Vance. Hi. Come in.” She waves me in, clearly in a hurry.
Shit. Did the paps follow me?
I step inside and close the door behind me since she’s already walking away.
“I have a huge favor to ask you and I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate. Which I am,” she says.
“The last time you asked me for a favor I became a full time caregiver for your son. What is it this time?” I’m only half-kidding but I keep my voice light.
“I slept past my alarm and for once in my life the kids didn’t actually wake me up. I’m going to be late for my call time if I don’t leave in the next three minutes. Is there any chance that you could get Via dressed and drop her off at daycare? I just finished feeding her breakfast.”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she’s halfway through the archway.
I don’t know shit about babies and though I’d normally tell her not a chance in hell, how can I say no. She’s clearly in a jam and it’s easy to garner a bad reputation in this town when you’re late and cost the production team time and money.
Stamp sucker on my forehead. “Sure. Just text me the address for the daycare,” I say.
The relief and gratitude etched on Layla’s face confirms I made the right decision and I’m happy that I’m able to help her out. “You’re a life saver.” She reaches forward and squeezes both of my hands. “I already laid Via’s clothes for the day out. You just have to take that bag by the door.” She points to the area behind me, “and the car seats are in the garage. You can google the instructions for installing them if you run into a problem, but you’re a smart guy, so I doubt you will.” She winks. As though she doesn’t already have me by the balls and needs to compliment me.
I nod, trying to commit all the instructions to memory. My morning routine usually involves me showering, dressing and grabbing a coffee. “Fair enough. You go get ready and I’ll handle things down here.
She gives me a big smile then spins on her heel and races toward the stairs.
I spend the next few minutes playing with Payne while Via blabbers contentedly in her high chair and plays with the small container Layla must have had her breakfast in. Less than five minutes later Layla races down the stairs, says a quick goodbye to the kids, and then tosses a ‘call me if you need me’ out behind her.
I clap my hands together. “Okay guys, what do you say we head upstairs to get you both dressed?”
Payne screams and runs up the stairs while I figure out how to get Via out of her high chair. A minute later and I’m smiling to myself at the small victory as we walk across the kitchen. That’s when it hits me—a scent so putrid it should be used as a form of warfare.
“Oh God.” I plug my nose. “What did you eat?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth it dawns on me that there’s only one person in this house who can change her diaper—me. From the smell of this little girl, it’s going to be one for the record books.
I find Payne upstairs standing in the hallway waiting for me.
“Can you show me which one is your sister’s room?” I ask him.
“Ya.” He skips through a door on his right and I follow him into a room with lavender painted walls, white furniture and a pale grey rocking chair. “Eww, Via!” He stops, plugs his nose. Tell me about it kid. “You have to change her diaper.” He runs over, grabs a diaper and throws it at me.
“Yeah, I get it.” I lie Via down on the floor.
“Not there.” Payne points up to the table where he got the diaper. “There.”
Oh yeah, makes sense. I pick up Via and hold her face forward away from my new shirt. She giggles and squirms. My eyes fixate on her back because common sense tells me the shit has to go somewhere.
I place Via down on the cushioned table. She immediately tries to roll over so I place my hand in the middle of her chest so that she stays put.
Another waft of what’s in her diaper makes its way to my nose. I hold my breath and press my lips together. “Is my script really this important?” I mumble.
“Payne, can you go get your clothes on?”
“Can I pick my own shirt?” he asks.
“Sure buddy, wear whatever you want.”
“Yay!” He races from the room and drawers are slamming seconds later.
Via is gazing up at me with her big blue eyes and smile on her face. “I bet you’re feeling lighter now.”
She giggles as if she can understand what I’m saying and I suppress a smile. Time to get serious. Get in and get out. Successful scriptwriter. Sundance. Sony. I repeat the reasons I’m in this position over and over again.
Once I’ve pumped myself up enough, I unzip her pajamas and lift her legs out of the feet holders, then her arms. Clean stomach, although she’s packing a nice size bulge in her diaper. Then I realize, there’s shit on the pajamas and I drop them in the laundry basket. I tear off one side of the diaper and then the other, and inhale one last breath before I pull the diaper down. “Holy shit!” How can a little girl’s poop be as big as Leo’s dog, Cooper’s shit?
Bile races up my throat and I physically swallow back the vomit, leaving a path of fire back down. I press my hand to my mouth and turn my head to take a few fresh air deep breaths.
“What am I supposed to do now?”
I am in way over my head. Changing my first diaper is one thing. Changing my first diaper full of shit and dealing with a biological disaster is another entirely.
With my free hand, I pull my phone out from my back pocket, ready to call Layla but the last thing she needs to realize is her new scriptwriter can’t even change a d
iaper. Luckily, there’s one other woman in my life who happened to be the go-to babysitter in Climax Cove— my sister Charlie. Besides she’s pregnant. She’s probably been practicing with dolls so she’s prepared when the day comes.
I thumb through my contacts and press on her name. I hit the speaker button and set my phone down on the dresser beside the bin holding the clean diapers.
“Vance?” she answers on the second ring.
“Hey. I need your help.”
“Hello to you too, Vance. How is life in LA? Oh, I’m fine. Why yes, the pregnancy is going great,” she says in a sweet voice. “But then you’d know that if you answered my texts!” she says much angrier.
“Sorry I’ve been busy. Listen. Hypothetically speaking let’s say you had a baby on a table and she took a giant shit and it ended up all the way up her back…what’s the first thing you would do?” I ask.
“Hypothetically speaking? Cut the shit, what’s going on?” she counters.
“I see that loving motherly side hasn’t surfaced yet.”
“That comment isn’t going to win you any points,” she says. “Garrett not now.” She giggles. “I’m on the phone with my brother.” Another giggle.
My stomach rolls. As if this situation isn’t bad enough, I now have to listen to one of my best friends seduce my sister. He already got her pregnant what more does he want? Kill me now.
“Would you guys stop that? I’m serious. I need help.” Panic is laced through my every word.
“Okay, okay. I’m getting out of bed,” she says.
“That is a visual I don’t need.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, Vance. Do you want my help with your hypothetical situation?”
I blow out a breath. “Yes, please.”
“There’s the son mom raised. Now, is she still in her clothes?” she asks.
“No. What next?” I ask, eager for this to be over.
“Where did you put it?”
“In the laundry basket. Is that bad?” I ask.
She laughs. “It’s not bad but everything in there will have to be washed as soon as you’re done there.”
“Sure, whatever. So what do I do next?”
