Mommy Tracked

by Whitney Gaskell

  “Just let me know if you need anything,” Faber said sycophantically, and closed the door behind him as he left the bedroom.

  “So, I thought we could start off talking about your new film,” Chloe began, nervously rifling through her briefcase for her tape recorder and pad. She checked to make sure she’d put a tape in and then turned the tape recorder on. “The name of the movie is Lamp Light, correct?” Fiona Watson nodded, still smiling beatifically. Chloe noticed that the actress’s eyes looked a bit empty. “Would you tell me a bit about your character in the film?”

  “I play Della Fox, a brilliant forensic psychiatrist working with the FBI to track a serial killer. I become concerned that one of the agents—played by Brad Ford, who’s just amazing in the movie—might be the killer. And, of course, I’m falling in love with Brad’s character, which further compli—what the hell is that?” Fiona suddenly snapped, her voice turning hard and shrill.

  “That” was the sound of a baby crying. And not just any baby. William. Chloe would know his cry anywhere. She jumped to her feet and hurried out of the room, calling back over her shoulder to Fiona, “Um, sorry, excuse me, just give me one second!”

  Chloe rushed toward the living room, which was down the hall from Fiona’s bedroom, just past the kitchenette with its marble counters and skinny stainless-steel refrigerator. The stroller was still where Chloe had left it, but William wasn’t in it. Chloe looked around anxiously. The stylists and beauticians were still lounging about the room, as was Faber, but the nanny, the boys, and—most importantly—William were nowhere to be seen. Where was he? Where had Katie taken him? Anxiety roiled up in Chloe, burning at her throat and mouth. She could still hear William’s sobs, but as she turned around and around, she couldn’t figure out where they were coming from.

  “Faber, do you know where my baby is?” Chloe asked. She was trying to stay calm and not freak out, but her voice was high and strained.

  “Back in the boys’ bedroom,” Faber said, nodding in the direction of the second hall. Chloe dashed off in the direction he’d indicated.

  “Are you done with the interview already?” Faber called after her.

  “No,” she replied, trying to sound upbeat and professional. “Just give me one minute.”

  Chloe burst into the bedroom without knocking. Inside, a harassed-looking Katie was rocking a screaming William in her arms, while Quincy and Satchel were grappling over an enormous Super Soaker water gun. It wasn’t until Chloe had reached for her crying baby, folding him into her arms, that she noticed his T-shirt was damp.

  “What happened?” Chloe asked, cradling William against her.

  “The boys were playing with their water gun,” Katie said.

  “It was an accident,” Quincy protested.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Satchel said.

  “Was too!”

  “Was not!”

  Quincy lunged at Satchel, who nimbly sidestepped the attack and, as he did so, knocked over a glass of juice that had been resting on the side table. The juice splashed onto the snow-white duvet, staining it orange, and dripped down on the carpet. Satchel dove, aiming the Super Soaker at his brother, but Quincy batted the plastic gun barrel away from him—and right at Chloe.

  “Ack!” Chloe yelped as a heavy stream of cold water doused her and William. William howled with fresh fury, and Chloe looked down at her now-dripping-wet baby—not to mention her own soaked cotton blouse and wool pants. William suddenly made a hacking noise and deposited a large glob of milky spit-up on Chloe’s shoulder, before returning to his wailing with fresh enthusiasm.

  Chloe patted William’s back, made shushing noises, and kissed the downy hair on his head, but William, unmoved by these gestures of maternal soothing, continued to shriek.

  “Boys!” Katie was shouting to be heard. “No!”

  The boys, still tussling and still grappling over the water gun, both dove onto the floor. Chloe quickly backed up before they could hit her with a stream of water again, then turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. She heard Katie shriek and guessed that the nanny had also gotten Super Soaked.

  I wonder how much Fiona pays her to watch those terrors, Chloe thought. Whatever it was, Katie earned every penny.

  “Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked William, as she carried him back out to the living room of the suite. His cries grew more pitiful as he inhaled raggedly. Ignoring the annoyed looks of Faber and company, Chloe rustled around in the diaper bag, still stuffed at the bottom of the stroller, for a dry outfit. She set William down on the couch, unsnapped the wet one-piece romper he’d had on, and replaced it with a soft pair of green pants and a matching green-and-blue-striped T-shirt with a frog appliqué on the front. William stopped crying and looked up at his mother with solemn, blinking eyes, as if to say, “Please don’t leave me alone with these people again.”

  “Ms. Watson’s time is really much too valuable—” Faber began reprovingly.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Chloe said. She glanced down at herself. The Super Soaker had hit her square in the stomach and her trousers. It looked as though she’d peed herself. Well. Nothing I can do about that now, she thought grimly, although she did clean the spit-up off her shoulder as best she could with a wet wipe.

  Still cradling William in one arm, she unlatched his car seat from where it was docked to the stroller and carried both baby and seat back into Fiona Watson’s room, moving quickly before Faber could figure out what she was doing and stop her. Fiona was just where Chloe had left her, lounging prettily on the chaise. She smiled vacantly at Chloe—until her wide blue eyes fixed on the baby. And then the smile slipped from her face, and her lovely features rearranged into a scowl.

  “Was that your baby crying?” Fiona asked, looking aggrieved.

  “I’m so sorry,” Chloe apologized. “So, so sorry. My son got wet from—” Then, thinking that it might be better not to implicate the star’s sons, Chloe veered off in another direction. “Um, well, anyway, he seems to have calmed down now, so I’ll just put him in his seat and we can continue the interview.”

  “I don’t like hearing babies cry,” Fiona said sulkily. “I find it very stressful.”

  Me too, Chloe thought dully. Her ears were still buzzing from William’s screams. Although she would have expected a little more sympathy from Fiona, who was a fellow mom. Chloe wondered how Fiona had coped with her own sons when they were babies. Surely even the progeny of Hollywood film stars cried now and again. Then, remembering Katie, Chloe realized that Fiona had likely rarely, if ever, had to deal with her children when they were upset. There had probably always been someone standing nearby to whom she could pass off the baby.

  Chloe gently settled William in his car seat and then returned to her chair. She switched on the tape recorder.

  “So. Where were we? Oh, yes, we were talking about Brad Ford. So, um, I’ve read that there was quite a bit of chemistry between the two of you. Would you care to comment on that?” Chloe asked.

  She was being delicate in how she broached this particular topic; the actual story that had been floated to the press by a disgruntled member of the crew was that Fiona and Brad had locked themselves up in Fiona’s trailer for hours on end, during which time the sound of ecstatic moaning and squealing could be heard from within. Since Fiona and Brad were both famously married to other people—Fiona to Scott Wilder, a sitcom star, Brad to Jilly Andrews, a former teen pop idol—the stories had been splashed around on the covers of the gossip magazines.

  Fiona just smiled serenely. “Yes, Brad and I do have amazing chemistry, which I think really comes across in the film. Of course, there wasn’t a bit of truth to those silly rumors, but that always happens. I guess it’s more exciting to believe that two costars are sleeping together than the truth, which is that they’re just very close, platonic friends, like Brad and me.” She followed an eye roll with her trademark America’s Sweetheart grin. It was an effective combination.

  “What’s your next p
roject?” Chloe pressed on.

  “I’m about to start work on—” But before Fiona could finish, William, already tired of his car seat, began to mewl unhappily. He wasn’t particularly loud about it—especially considering that for such a small baby, he had an extraordinary capacity for volume—but even so, the smile on Fiona’s face vanished and was replaced by a thunderous scowl. Chloe cringed and lunged toward her baby.

  “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she muttered to Fiona. Chloe moved William’s seat closer to her chair and rocked it back and forth, which lulled William into a dazed stupor. As soon as Chloe stopped rocking, William’s eyes snapped open. Before he could start crying again, Chloe quickly began rocking him again. Fiona stared at her, expressions of distaste and disbelief mingled on her lovely face. Chloe colored. This was not going well.

  “Um. So. You were saying? About your next project?” Chloe said.

  “What’s that on your shirt?” Fiona asked, pointing at Chloe.

  Chloe looked down and saw that her milk—which apparently began flowing in response to William’s cries—had begun leaking. Two large wet circles were bleeding onto the only dry part of her already soggy blue oxford shirt. How could she have forgotten to stick in her breast pads? How? When she glanced back up at Fiona Watson, she saw that the actress had turned paper white.

  “Is that…is that…breast milk?” Fiona whispered.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. It happens sometimes when he cries.”

  “Eww! That’s disgusting!” Fiona said, with her famous nose wrinkle.

  “Well, it’s just breast milk,” Chloe said apologetically, wishing desperately that the conversation could get off the topic of her lactation.

  “You have to leave.” Fiona pointed a thin finger at the door.

  “What?”

  “I can’t have that”—Fiona made a vague gesture in the general direction of Chloe’s breasts—“near me.” She looked revolted, as though she might start vomiting at any minute.

  “Can we just get through a few more questions?” Chloe asked. She couldn’t leave now. She hadn’t gotten nearly enough material for her story. Maia would never again entrust her with a big story. “I’ll change my shirt if it makes you more comfortable.”

  “I can not have someone doing…doing…that near me!” Fiona was now so upset, her voice cracked.

  “But…but…,” Chloe stuttered. She felt like she’d been struck dumb with mortification. And then, even worse, she let out a small gulp of nervous laughter. It was just so ridiculous—freaking out about breast milk. It wasn’t like she had plutonium leaking out of her breasts.

  Fiona gasped, and two bright spots of red appeared on her cheeks. “How dare you laugh at me,” she hissed.

  “I wasn’t laughing at you,” Chloe said immediately. “I’m sorry, it was just a reflex, and—”

  But Fiona didn’t let her finish. “Get out!” the actress shrieked. She smacked her hand against the wall with a loud thud. William started at the noise and began to cry, and Chloe could feel her milk-swollen breasts respond again with a warm prickle.

  “What’s going on in here?” Faber and Nanette had appeared instantly, standing side by side at the door, wearing identical expressions of concern.

  “Get her out of here! Now!” Fiona screeched. Her blue eyes bugged out and her lips were stretched back, toadlike. Suddenly, she didn’t look beautiful at all—in fact, she looked slightly deranged.

  “Nanette, call security,” Faber said authoritatively. He stepped forward to take Chloe’s arm. William began to cry even louder.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll go,” Chloe said. Faber’s grip on her arm was so tight, it was starting to hurt.

  “Make her take that horrible baby with her too!” Fiona screeched, trying to make herself heard over William’s screams, which was no small feat.

  “Like I’d leave him here,” Chloe muttered. Hot, angry tears burned in her eyes as she leaned down and picked up William in his car seat. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she marched out of the room.

  Later that afternoon, after Chloe got William bathed, fed, and tucked into his crib, she poured herself a glass of wine and collapsed on the sofa. She’d never been so tired in her life. Of course, William had slept like an angel the entire way back home, which Chloe supposed was a good thing, but she couldn’t help feeling a tad resentful.

  Sure, now he sleeps, she thought.

  Chloe had assumed that after she had William, going back to work wouldn’t be that hard. She already worked from home and had a career that allowed her to keep flexible hours. Chloe had figured that it would just be a matter of being disciplined about sitting down at her computer every afternoon when William drifted off to sleep. Instead, on her first postpartum work assignment, she’d manage to humiliate herself in front of one of Hollywood’s biggest stars and entourage before being escorted out of the Breakers by hotel security. And while Chloe had tried to explain that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that the actress had a bizarre phobia of breast milk, security hadn’t been won over by this argument. If anything, they’d hustled her out that much faster.

  And, typical me, I let them, rather than standing up for myself, Chloe thought bitterly.

  Chloe now rested her bare feet on the edge of the coffee table. As she did so, she noticed that the glass top of the table was smudged. In her former, premommy days, Chloe would have leapt up for the Windex, but right now she was just too freaking tired to move. The smudge would have to stay for the time being.

  Chloe reached into her pocket and withdrew a tube of lipstick. Her stomach pitched guiltily as she stared down at it. On her way home from the interview, Chloe had stopped at Publix to purchase the wine. While she was in the grocery store, she had—on impulse—pocketed the lipstick. It was a vampy red, a shade she’d never have the nerve to wear, not that she planned to. She would have tossed it in the Goodwill collection box on her way home, but William got fussy at the store and Chloe thought she’d better not stop.

  But why had she done it? Why was she stealing again? She’d been doing so well—she hadn’t even had the impulse to shoplift anything since the day she had taken the cherry shoes. And then, out of the blue, the urge had hit her. Is it stress-related? she wondered.

  Or maybe, she thought with a dull wave of self-loathing, I’m just a really terrible person. Other women are able to keep it together, and juggle babies and marriages and husbands, without screwing up their jobs or going on a crime spree. How do they do it? And why can’t I?

  Then Chloe remembered Juliet’s offer to give her some pointers on balancing work with motherhood. Chloe had never brought up the subject to Juliet again, but now, she knew, it was time. She needed help.

  She finished her glass of wine and picked up the phone and dialed information. A moment later, she was being connected to the law firm of Little & Frost.

  “May I speak to Juliet Cole, please? This is Chloe Truman.”

  “Hello, Juliet Cole.” Juliet’s voice was clipped. Chloe, realizing too late that she was catching Juliet at a busy time, suddenly wished she hadn’t called.

  “Hi, Juliet, it’s Chloe.”

  “Hey, Chloe, what’s up?” Juliet asked. She sounded distracted, her voice edged with tension, and Chloe almost lost her nerve. But then she looked at the lipstick, standing on end on the coffee table, and pushed ahead.

  “I need some help,” Chloe admitted.

  Juliet was quiet while Chloe recounted the aborted interview with Fiona Watson.

  “Jesus Christ. She freaked out over a little breast milk?” Juliet said.

  “She acted like it was toxic. Like it was poison, instead of milk.”

  “So what do you need my help with? I don’t think you have a cause of action against the hotel, unless the guards hurt you when they escorted you out. And even then—”

  “Oh, no, I don’t want to sue anyone. That’s not why I called.” Chloe hesitated, but then, feeling emboldened by the wine, she continued. “I need to
learn how to handle situations like that. Working and being a mom and being bullied by people. I know you’re busy, and I know this sort of thing probably comes easy to you, and I know it’s a huge imposition, and I’m so sorry for that, but please—I just need a few pointers.”

  “Well, first of all, you don’t put up with shit like that. I don’t care if the woman is a big star, you shouldn’t let anyone treat you like that,” Juliet said.

  “But how?”

  “You have to be more assertive. Stop saying everything as though it’s a question. Stop apologizing for taking up space.”

  “Do I do that?”

  “Constantly.”

  “Oh, sorry—oops! I did it again, didn’t I? Sorry,” Chloe said. She shook her head and clapped a hand against her forehead. “I can’t seem to stop.”

  “And that’s just the beginning. Look, I’ll tell you what—are you free for lunch tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” Chloe said.

  “Let’s meet at the Dolphin Street Café. I’ll give you some tips, and we’ll figure out how to get back at that Fiona chick.”

  “Really?” Chloe asked. She felt such a rush of relief that her voice cracked.

  “Yes, really. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Juliet said.

  And despite everything that had happened that day, when Chloe hung up the phone, she felt better than she had in a long time. Or at least she did right up until her gaze fell on the lipstick again, and a fresh wave of shame rolled over her.

  thirteen

  Grace

  She’d lost eleven pounds!

  Grace hugged her arms around herself and did a little jig of happiness right there on the scale. Thank God for her Miracle Diet Tea! It really worked! Which made it all worthwhile: the headaches, the dizziness and, yes, okay, the occasional feeling that her heart was racing so fast it was going to explode. Really. She could handle a headache and the occasional discomfort if it meant that she might finally be thin.