A Bundle of Mannies

by Lorelei M. Hart

  “I guess.” He spoke without feeling. Crap. I vowed right then and there that if I accomplished nothing else this week, I was going to open Eric's eyes to the love his father had for him.

  “I see you are interested in our drama program,” a short older woman with glasses around her neck on a beaded chain interrupted my thoughts. “Excellent choice, I might add, even if I might be biased since it is my program.” She held her hand out to me. “Marilyn Temple.”

  I took her hand and gave it a shake, unable to believe the Marilyn Temple was on board the cruise ship, running a drama class.

  “I see you recognize me.” She swished her hand. “Forget about all of that and focus on the splendid experience your son will get. An experience of a lifetime, if I say so myself, and this will be the only one. I am doing this as a favor for…well, let’s just say a dear friend whose contributions to the theater and children’s causes make her someone I could never deny anything to.” She paused. “Shirley Faith, star of stage and screen and my mentor.” In truth, I felt Marilyn the bigger star, but Shirley Faith’s philanthropy since her retirement was well known.

  I pondered all I learned in that very brief conversation. Marilyn Temple, the most famous child star of wholesome family musicals in movie history, was offering a class, one that Eric showed a strong interest in. His father would need see the value in that. I could wrap it up as a plus on his college applications or something.

  “What do you think, Eric? Are you interested in taking classes with Ms. Temple?”

  “Do you think my father would allow it?” he asked in a hushed whisper as if almost embarrassed to need to ask.

  “It is an excellent opportunity and would look amazing on your college applications.” And would be insanely fun.

  “You are but a boy. Why are you worried about that?” Marilyn asked and then squinted in censure at me.

  “Age is no excuse for not achieving all you are capable of,” Eric repeated in a robotic tone. How many times had he heard that over the course of his short lifetime?

  “It is imperative that he sign up, Dad.” She waggled her finger at me. Had she not heard us talking about his father?

  “He is my summer manny,” Eric corrected. “Will there be singing?”

  “It will be a musical if I can get enough decent voices. Sing for me,” she commanded, and you couldn’t even be mad or frustrated at her over-the-top personality. She was obviously used to being obeyed by anyone in her orbit.

  “I don’t know any songs.”

  “‘Mary had a Little Lamb’ and go.” She pointed to him, and he began to sing.

  The first few words were scratchy and so off-pitch even I knew they were meant to be sung solo—so low you couldn’t hear it. But then something happened, and as he sang and got more confidence, encouraged by her growing smile, his song went from little kid singsonging to a beautiful rendition. Damn, the kid could sing.

  “Excellent. Musical it is. You have some training I see.”

  “Only cello, ma’am. My father thinks that an orchestral instrument is a solid base for increasing skills in mathematics.”

  Oh Kylos was a piece of work.

  “Let me get you the paperwork. We begin tomorrow at nine.” She scampered away and returned with a packet of papers. “I apologize, but your brother is too young for this.”

  “He’s not my brother.” He reached over and squeezed Seth’s foot. “He’s Graysen’s nephew. Isn’t he adorable?”

  “Beyond. I could eat him up.” Which let’s be honest is a creepy thing to say about a child, and yet all older people seemed to say it, so?

  “Graysen, do you think I can really do this? I promise to get my other things done.” It was a promise he couldn’t keep. There were not enough hours in the day given that this was a three-hour-a-day activity. I wasn’t going to contradict him though. No, if this was what sang to him, I would figure out a way to package it in a way his father would allow it. It wasn’t a stretch to say it would be a more than valuable experience.

  “Excellent. I need to head back into the bowels of this ship.” She leaned in close and added in a whisper, “I want people to sign up for their love of theater and not to meet me, so I am off to my suite.” She gave a half wave and was off.

  I very highly doubted her suite was in the bowels of the ship, or that any suites were so located, but her turn of phrase made me smile, which I had a feeling was her goal.

  “Graysen, Seth is making a face.” He wrinkled up his nose and puffed out his cheeks showing me said look.

  “That is his ‘I am pooping’ face. We’d best go take care of that.”

  “By we, you mean you, right?” He pinched his nose and rolled his eyes. I had a feeling, however, if I asked him to do things like fetch a diaper or help me feed Seth, he’d be far more than willing.

  “Yes, I mean me.” I tickled Seth’s foot. “You ready for a change?” He rubbed his nose into my shoulder blade. I took it as a yes.

  “Do you think I can really do it, the play I mean.” Eric asked halfway back to the cabin.

  “Absolutely,” or a strong maybe anyway. “How many kids can say they worked with Marilyn Temple?”

  “About that—how do you know her?” He had no idea who she was...

  Oh yes, he needed this experience. And I planned to make sure it happened. After I changed a stinky diaper anyway.

  Chapter Seven

  Kylos

  As it turned out, I had been unable to join Eric and Graysen for lunch. I’d been waylaid by one of the organizers who wanted to discuss some schedule changes over a meal. We had just pushed off, and the 360 degree view from the glass-walled VIP dining room was stunning, the food well-prepared and tasty, but the meeting totally unnecessary. The minor adjustments could well have been emailed to me, and, by the time the dessert of fresh berry tart topped with creme fraiche sat in front of us, he’d finally come around to the real reason he wanted time alone with me.

  “So you see,” he said, toying with a spoonful of raspberries, blueberries, and other berries, “his therapist insists our son is not living up to his full potential, but we don’t know what else to do.”

  I bit back the comment that the consultation he’d finagled should be costing him a pretty penny. I made a mental note to keep my guard up in future. But for now, I’d have to be gracious and watch for my escape.

  “I’m sure your son is—”

  A spattering of applause drowned out what I was going to say next, which would have been a polite referral to my office because he really should have known better. But the organizer was already on his feet, a celebrity greater than me now the focus of his attention. I watched him glad-hand a woman by the door and then draw her over to the table, babbling away. I blessed whoever it was for distracting him then I stood, ready to greet the newcomer and leave.

  Then I saw who it was.

  “Kylos Thermopolous, I have the honor of introducing you to the beautiful, the talented, the very gracious Marilyn Temple who has done us the tremendous honor of joining us on our little cruise.” I had my hand out, ready to greet my late omega’s favorite movie star, but the man went on. “She’s handling the drama production for our children on the trip. My son is going to audition, and I pray he’ll be good enough.”

  Ms. Temple, who had been about to put her hand in mine to shake, jerked her head in his direction. “Mr. Edwards”—so that was his name, I hadn’t really thought about it—“never let me hear you say anything like that about your child again. He is certainly good enough. Is he an actor? A singer? I don’t know, but every child has his own talents and gifts if the parent is patient and caring enough to find out.”

  The pudgy middle-aged fellow’s name actually was on the lanyard he wore, emblazoned with the event title as well. If I hadn’t been so annoyed at him for dragging me off, I might have noticed. Or if he’d bothered to introduce himself. Likely, he’d been so focused on getting free advice he had lost some of his professional edge. At this poi
nt, he stammered and flushed because, what else can you do after a dressing down in a sotto voce stage voice from the illustrious Marilyn Temple?

  I fought a grin as she turned toward me and shook my hand. “Kylos is it? It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you have any children for our production?”

  “I do have a son who is on board. But he’s never shown any interest in dramatics. A very serious boy, and focused on his future.”

  “You must be so proud.” But her gaze seemed to see inside me, and maybe not with the approval most expressed over similar comments. “But perhaps he would like to give it a try. It will be a musical, most amusing, and I am also offering private classes to some of the children who show promise.”

  “How generous of you.” The star of so many of the movies my late omega and I had watched, curled up on the couch, the bowl of popcorn balanced on his pregnant belly. I swallowed the grief and tried to look forward. Looking back holds you back. The mantra that got me through the pain and loss. “I’m sure it will be most edifying.”

  She shook her head. “Edifying...hmm. I’m going for fun and a bit of learning along the way. This is after all a cruise, Kylos. I just gave an early audition to the most wonderful boy. Talented, the voice of an angel. But he thinks his father may not let him participate. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ve always made it my business to encourage my son to pursue his talents. How else is a child to achieve their full potential? Eric, for example, enjoys playing cello. He will never be in the philharmonic, but it serves the dual purpose of providing him with an appreciation for classical music and instills some mathematical principles as well.”

  The star of stage and screen eyed me closely. “I think I’ve heard that before. Interesting. So, for example, if a client asked you whether they should let their child be in a musical aboard ship, you would recommend they grant permission?”

  “Of course.”

  We exchanged pleasantries, and Marilyn started to leave our table to go to one where the host waited with her menu, but I stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Ms. Temple?”

  “Yes? And it’s Marilyn, please.”

  “My son’s late father enjoyed your work very much. Watching your movies together is one of my best memories.” Because, even while looking forward, you couldn’t forget the good times. “He would have been over the moon to meet you like this.” Dammit I was not crying. I blinked back the tears. “Sorry. I still get a little emotional, but thank you for all the pleasure you gave us.”

  She gave me a soft smile that made her look younger, a lot like the beauty in the movies. “I’m glad I could do that. It’s one of the best parts of my job. Thank you for sharing that.” She reached out and brushed a tear off my cheek. “It’s okay to miss him, you know. My husband has been gone for nearly twenty years, and I miss him every day, but I have moved on, too.”

  As she sat at her table and took the menu, I stood where she’d left me.

  “Kylos?” The organizer waved toward our table. “Shall we order coffee?”

  I shook my head. “No. I need to go incorporate the schedule changes, but thank you for introducing me to Marilyn Temple. I never dreamed a star of her caliber would be involved in the children’s program aboard ship.”

  “She’s good friends with our sponsor, so is doing it as a sort of favor.”

  “And you didn’t promote it at all?”

  He shrugged. “Like you, she was a last minute substitution. A shame really.”

  “Yes. A shame.” I left him to finish his dessert and headed for the suite, needing to get centered. Marilyn Temple. Astounding.

  Chapter Eight

  Graysen

  “Are you sure this fits with the itinerary Dad gave me? I don’t want to ruin my chance of having the lead because he’s upset I am being dismissive of my responsibilities.” Eric regurgitated what I had every reason to believe were his father’s words as he looked up at me from his seat at the desk in the common room of our suite.

  It still floored me how ginormous the place was. My connecting bedroom significantly less square footage, yet still larger than my room at home. Kylos even managed to get a portable crib for Seth to be delivered while Eric and I had toured the ship, which worked out perfectly. He still loved his crib, and, until he decided otherwise, I planned to let him keep it.

  “Your father specifically indicated that you need to strengthen your prose.” Which seemed an insane way to spend a cruise. Heck, the entire itinerary was insane. Not my circus. Not my monkey, I tried to remind myself, using a phrase my mother had been all too fond of when I was growing up, especially related to Sam’s friends and their choices. That hadn’t turned out well. In retrospect, it was a shit saying.

  “I believe he wanted me to focus on fictional prose.” He hung his head slightly. “I only managed a ninety-eight in my creative writing class last semester.”

  “Most people consider that quite an achievement,” said the guy who graduated with a solid B average in all things not art. “And writing a persuasive essay is excellent practice.” Or so I hoped. It was a risk, and I knew it at the time, but, after hearing Eric’s voice, I was ready to try anything and everything to get him permission to be in the production—aside from going behind his dad’s back. More than I technically already had, anyway.

  “I believe I am done. Would you be able to proofread it?” He held his paper out to me just as Seth started to fuss, waking up a half hour earlier from his nap than I had hoped.

  “Absolutely. Let me get Seth first.” I stepped away as the sound of his desk chair scooting across the floor vibrated in the room.

  “I can watch him, and you can do the proofread,” he called from behind me as I leaned down and snagged Seth from his pouting stance.

  “Hey, little man. It’s okay. Unka is here.” I kissed his little cheeks and brought him over to the bed to change him. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, and then we can have some fun proofreading Eric’s essay,” I singsonged as I did just that, Eric right there the entire time.

  “I don’t mind watching him. Maybe I could read to him again or something.” And that was when it all clicked. Eric wasn’t trying to take Seth to get me working on his essay. He wanted to hang out with him and do kid things, things I was pretty sure he’d never been able to do as a child.

  So, we did exactly that—me taking my time editing the practically flawless essay as Eric read and sang and chatted up little Seth who was loving every minute of it.

  “There really aren’t many changes to be made,” I finally said as I heard the telltale gurgle of Seth’s stomach which always led to begging for food.

  “Thanks, Graysen.” He smiled but made no move to get up off the bed. “Do you want me to read it to you?” he asked Seth who answered with his own version of yes.

  His speech was behind for his two years, and looking older than he was didn’t help matters. I’d been working on increasing his zero-word vocabulary, and it was coming along—slowly. We’d get there, though. He had intelligence in spades, he just needed patience and an adult to pay attention to him to get there. Or so my speech pathologist friend insisted when she evaluated him for me, giving me things to do with him to encourage his language growth.

  “Shouldn’t you be working with Eric instead of having him babysit your nephew?” Kylos stood in the doorway. When did he come in?

  “Eric was editing my essay, and I was reading to Seth to practice my— I wanted to play with him.” He hung his head, holding Seth’s hand the entire time.

  “I apologize,” Kylos quickly mumbled.

  I had a feeling I was seeing an interaction that didn’t normally take place between the two. As if telling his father his wants as opposed to what was expected was foreign territory for both of them. I truly hoped it wasn’t.

  “May I see this essay? I must admit that when I mentioned working on your prose, I meant your fictional works.” He took the paper I held out to him and sat on the oth
er side of Seth on the bed.

  He read the essay, looked at his son, then read the essay yet another time, a pensive look on his face, but zero emotions. Eric had been very factual, so that made sense in a way, but the undercurrent of longing was evident with every line. There was no way someone as educated as his father wouldn’t have seen it.

  “And you would like to audition for said production?” Kylos broke the silence.

  “I already have, Father.” He confessed something I’d noticed had been left out of his essay. “I believe I did quite well.”

  “And what would you be doing during this time?” he asked me pointedly.

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, sir. Possibly see if they need some help with the sets? There is a nice program for children Seth’s age that looked reasonably priced I had considered trying.” It would take a chunk of my pay away, but he hadn’t hired me and child, just me. And the program did look amazing.

  “If you would like him in the program, it will, of course, be on me. But if you prefer to have him with you, I do understand. Children at this age need their parents—I mean family.” He was so off kilter. What had his meeting been about that had him so not himself—or at least the self he’d chosen to show me.

  “We should probably see if Eric has a part.” I didn’t see how that wouldn’t happen, but I also hadn’t seen any of the other auditions. For all I knew, this ship was filled with kids who performed on Broadway.

  “I just met Ms. Temple who mentioned hearing a boy with the voice of an angel. I have every reason to believe that is you, son.” He smiled, his eyes glistening. “You get that from your dad. He had a beautiful voice, too.”

  I held on to Seth as Eric bounded across the bed, wrapping his arms around his father in one of the sweetest moments I’d ever been blessed to witness.

  Chapter Nine

  Kylos

  So Eric had his other dad’s gift for song. I had no idea, since he’d never really shown interest in school choir or anything. Sure, music was important, but cello should have filled that slot in Eric’s education. It certainly seemed coincidental that Marilyn Temple happened along and said all those things. Had my temporary manny conspired with the onboard celebrity to go against my wishes?