Claudia and the World's Cutest Baby

  As far as I was concerned, my stay hadn’t been long enough.

  I felt a slight nagging sensation as I went to sleep that night. A sort of Lynn withdrawal, I guess. But I didn’t mind.

  In eight more hours, I would see my goddaughter again.

  The Ghost of Russ answered the door Sunday morning. At least that was what he looked like. He was pale and hollow-eyed, his hair was all bunched up on one side, and he was wearing his pj’s. “Should I come back later?” I asked.

  “Not if you agree to make coffee,” he replied.

  “Super Godmom to the rescue!” I said, walking past him to the kitchen. “Bad night, huh?”

  “Night? Lynn thought it was daytime.”

  I laughed. “Newborns are like that. Their body rhythms are used to the darkness in utero.”

  “Ugh, it’s too early for Latin,” Russ said with a yawn.

  I read the labels of the fresh-roasted coffees Dad had put in the freezer. “Breakfast blend okay?”

  “Have caffeine, will drink.”

  I set the coffee bag by the electric-drip machine. “Okay, now how does this thing work?”

  “Let me do it.” That was Peaches, walking downstairs, her voice about five tones lower than usual. “Morning, Claudia.”

  “Morning!”

  “Eeeeeee!” a teeny voice screamed from upstairs.

  “I’ll go,” Russ volunteered, scampering to the stairs.

  “No, I will.”

  The two of them disappeared, leaving me with the coffee machine.

  How hard could it be? I lifted a hinged section in the back and poured in some ground coffee. Four … five … six tablespoonfuls. That seemed reasonable. I brought the machine to the sink, filled it with water, then set it back on the counter and pressed the ON button.

  Done. I ran up to see my goddaughter.

  Peaches was sitting in a rocking chair, feeding Lynn. Russ was kneeling beside them, beaming.

  What a picture.

  “She looks bigger,” I said softly.

  Peaches laughed. “She should. She’s been feeding all night.”

  “We have a real eater on our hands,” Russ remarked.

  (See? I knew we had a lot in common!)

  “Eeeeee!” Lynn started up again.

  Peaches lifted her onto a shoulder and started patting her back.

  “Try a rubbing motion,” said I, Claudia, the veteran of BSC-client newborns.

  “Like this?” Peaches asked, moving her hand up and down Lynn’s back.

  “Here, I’ll show you.” I took Lynn and held her on my shoulder, moving my hand in a firm circular motion. “It stirs up the gas, but in a gentler way.”

  “Eeeee!” Lynn was not impressed.

  I smiled. “Some babies are ‘Eeee’ babies. Others are more ‘Aaaa.’ Funny, I’ve never seen an ‘Ohhhh’ baby.”

  “Brrrup,” was Lynn’s next contribution to the conversation.

  “Atta girl,” I said, handing her back to Peaches.

  A faint sputtering noise filtered up from downstairs. “What’s that?” Peaches asked.

  “The coffee machine,” I replied. “Don’t forget to switch arms, Peaches. It’s better for you and the baby.”

  Now I smelled something burning.

  “Be right back,” Russ said, hurrying out.

  I followed him. “Don’t go away,” I called to Lynn over my shoulder.

  In the kitchen, the coffee machine was coughing and spitting. A lumpy black liquid was gathering at the bottom of the pot.

  “What did you do?” Russ asked.

  When I explained, he immediately turned the machine off and pulled the plug. “Claudia, you put the coffee in the plastic basket above the pot. Only water goes in the back!”

  I was mortified. “Sorry! Did I ruin it?”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Is everything all right?” Peaches called from upstairs.

  “Fine!” Russ lied.

  “I’ll clean it up!” I blurted out. “I’ll buy you another one!”

  After wiping up the guck and cleaning out the machine, I walked all the way to the deli and bought two cups of coffee (and a big Snickers bar to calm my nerves).

  I devoted the rest of the day to making up for my goof. I did some shopping, gave Peaches dozens of tips, and changed lots of diapers.

  Around noon Stacey and Mary Anne dropped by. Then Mallory and Jessi. Then Kristy and Abby. Of course I introduced them all to Lynn. You have never heard so many squeals of delight. Russ ended up serving us all lunch.

  Peaches had only one nap the whole day. She and Russ were exhausted by dinnertime.

  “Don’t worry,” I assured them. “You’re in good hands.”

  I called home and told Mom I was going to stay and prepare dinner. Peaches and Russ kept insisting they didn’t need me. They were being such troupers.

  When I left at eight o’clock, they looked beat.

  Lynn, however, was gurgling away.

  I came that close to stealing her.

  * * *

  After such a Lynn-filled weekend, I could hardly bear the thought of going back to school on Monday.

  I tried to pay attention in class. Really. But I had so many important things on my mind.

  The whole week long I worked on three lists: Things to Make for Lynn, Things to Buy for Lynn, and Things to Do with Lynn.

  Not that I was obsessed. I did learn a lot in social studies. Philadelphia, for example, is an extremely cool place. If it weren’t for Philadelphia, the Constitution wouldn’t have been written, Benjamin Franklin wouldn’t have had a place to live, the country might have ended up pretty funky, my ancestors wouldn’t have wanted to move here, and Lynn might not ever have been born.

  I was psyched about our class trip. Not only because of the history, but also because we were going to stay over in a hotel. On Wednesday, Ms. Bernhardt passed out sign-up sheets for hotel roommates. We would be grouped two or three to a room.

  “I’m going to request you,” Melissa whispered.

  I felt guilty. I’d written Abby’s and Stacey’s names on my list.

  Underneath I wrote:

  That night I had another sitting job at the Prezziosos’, so I could not see Lynn. I believe it was the hardest job of my career. When I put little Andrea to bed I almost burst into tears.

  I made up for it after school the next day. I raced to Peaches and Russ’s. I stayed an extra, extra long time. I taught Peaches how to double up the cloth diaper for longer use. I also gave her a few pointers on feeding technique.

  Russ teased me about being so bossy. But Peaches didn’t seem to mind. She caught on well. She definitely had potential.

  * * *

  On Friday Ms. Bernhardt passed out the list of rooming assignments. I almost jumped out of my seat when I read it:

  KISHI-STEVENSON-MCGILL.

  “Rats,” Melissa muttered.

  “What’s wrong?” I looked for Melissa’s name and saw BANKS-KARP.

  “Lily Karp,” Melissa replied.

  Frankly, I thought Melissa should be happy. I didn’t know Lily that well, but she was smart and funny and friendly. She seemed like a perfect roommate.

  “That’s great,” I remarked.

  Melissa shrugged. “They didn’t put you and me together. Want to trade?”

  “Well, I —”

  “I mean, like, Lily’s cool and everything. She wouldn’t mind. And, like — Stevenson and McGill? They’re not in our class, so it’s not even fair, and —”

  “Stacey and Abby are two of my best friends, Melissa.” Boy, was my Guilt Meter ticking. “But we’re going shopping at the Washington Mall tomorrow. Want to come?”

  Her face lit up. “Sure!”

  The next day my dad drove Abby, Stacey, Melissa, and me to the Washington Mall. I found the world’s most gorgeous canvas diaper bag for Peaches. Then I picked up a few necessities for the trip south: a pair of men’s baggy summer-weight khaki pants, a sun dress, a few tank
tops, sunglasses, and a Swiss army knife. (Why a knife? Don’t ask me. Kristy said it was essential for a trip away from home.)

  Melissa laughed at Abby’s jokes, agreed with all our choices, and didn’t say much else. Stacey was polite, but I could see she wasn’t thrilled to have Melissa along. And I must admit, we couldn’t totally be ourselves.

  But hey, a good deed is a good deed, right?

  * * *

  The next few days passed in a blur. Because I was going to leave, I made sure to spend part of every day with Lynn. Each time I visited, I brought something new. Saturday night it was a coffeemaker (courtesy of my generous mom and dad). Sunday it was a pair of booties. Monday, three boxes of plastic diapers (for the nighttime; during the day Lynn wore cloth diapers).

  Mom was becoming so cranky. She kept telling me to leave Peaches and Russ alone. “They need time together,” she insisted.

  Right. With a newborn in the house and absolutely no one to guide them? Puh-leeze.

  The Tuesday before the trip, I spent the whole afternoon at Peaches and Russ’s. Things seemed okay until dinnertime. Peaches exploded when Russ dropped a plate. Then Russ exploded when one of Lynn’s plastic diapers ripped. (Me? I kept my cool. Someone had to.)

  After dinner Peaches said, “I’m turning in early.”

  “Fine,” Russ snapped. “I’ll stay up all night.”

  Peaches glared at him. “You don’t have to say it that way.”

  “What way?”

  “That was hostile, Russ. You know, I’m with her every day while you’re at work. You don’t know what that’s like.”

  “Oh. And my life at work is so easy? What do you think I do at the office? Nap and play games?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” Russ glanced sheepishly in my direction, then said to Peaches, “We really should discuss this another time.”

  But Peaches was steaming. “When? I never see you anymore!”

  “That’s because when we’re alone, you’re sleeping!”

  “When else am I going to sleep? If I’m not running around with the baby, I’m entertaining. I feel like we’re in a hotel here!”

  “Well, that’s not my fault!” Russ shot back.

  I began inching toward the door. “Uh, guys? I think I’ll just … head home.”

  “Sure, Claudia,” Russ said. “Thanks for your help.”

  “ ’Bye,” Peaches said.

  Out the door I went.

  Whoa. I knew that having a child was a strain. I’d expected a little tension. But hearing a fight like that was a shock.

  I felt bad for Peaches. She was losing it.

  A hotel? The house sure didn’t feel that way to me. Sure, my friends had visited that one day, but otherwise I’d seen hardly any other visitors. Evenings had been pretty cozy. Just Russ, Peaches, Lynn, and me.

  Oh, well, they both needed sleep. That was the real problem. Maybe Lynn would cooperate that night.

  One thing I was sure of. Peaches needed plenty of support.

  I didn’t know how they were going to survive the weekend without me.

  “Carolyn,” Mary Anne began patiently, “a human being cannot fit through an electrical outlet —” “Can too!” Carolyn retorted. “It was in the movie!”

  “You have to be affected by the liment of the planets and a field of magnets,” Marilyn explained.

  “I think you mean alignment of the planets,” Carolyn corrected her. “And a magnetic field.”

  “Oh.” Marilyn nodded.

  “No!” Mary Anne said. “That’s the explanation they used. But it’s fiction. What you saw was fake.”

  “How do you know?” Marilyn asked. “You didn’t see it.”

  “Well … I — I don’t need to,” Mary Anne sputtered. “I just know. They probably used trick photography.”

  “What about the chopped-off head, with all the blood?” Marilyn asked. “Was that real?”

  Mary Anne felt herself turning green. “Of course not. It was rubber or plastic. The whole thing is just a movie! Look, guys, it’s late. Time to put your pajamas on.”

  Marilyn and Carolyn tiptoed to the bottom of the stairs.

  “RAAAAAAAAAAWWRRR!” they both bellowed upward.

  “What are you doing?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Sshhhh!” Carolyn said, cocking her ear.

  “I think we scared it away,” Marilyn whispered. “You go first, Mary Anne.”

  With a deep sigh, Mary Anne led the girls upstairs.

  Marilyn’s sleeping bag was still on Carolyn’s floor. The electrical outlets were all taped up, and black-painted blocks had been stacked on the windowsill.

  “What are those for?” Mary Anne asked.

  “They’ll fall to the floor if anyone tries to crawl in at night,” Marilyn said, “so we’ll know in advance. And we can run.”

  “We painted them black so they’ll be invisible in the dark,” Carolyn explained.

  “Can you stand by the window while we change?” Marilyn asked.

  As Mary Anne guarded the window, the girls grabbed their pajamas.

  “Ready, set, go!” Marilyn said.

  With a flurry of limbs, they practically tore their clothes off and leaped into the pj’s.

  Mary Anne laughed. “In a hurry to go to sleep?”

  “Uh-uh,” Marilyn said.

  “We don’t want to be naked if … you know,” Carolyn added.

  “If the monster comes?” Mary Anne asked.

  The girls blushed.

  Mary Anne accompanied them to the bathroom. She stood outside the door while they brushed their teeth. She let them roar into the hallway. She followed them back to their rooms.

  Marilyn flicked on a desk lamp. The bedroom was as bright as Hermosa Beach at noon.

  “Good night,” Mary Anne said.

  “Would you read to us?” Carolyn asked meekly.

  “Okay,” Mary Anne agreed. “What would you like to hear?”

  “Where the Wild Things Are,” Marilyn suggested.

  Mary Anne is so sensitive. She did not tell them they were too old for picture books. She did not remind them they could read perfectly well on their own.

  Instead she read the book to them. Then she read another request, Harold and the Purple Crayon.

  Halfway through There’s a Nightmare in My Closet, her eyes began to close. “Okay, you guys, sleeptime. Good night.”

  “Night,” they mumbled.

  Mary Anne went down to the kitchen. She glanced at the note on the table, which basically said that the twins’ TV watching had to be strictly supervised. Then she took a copy of The Catcher in the Rye out of her backpack and settled down to read. (That, by the way, is one example of Great Literature I actually like.)

  She enjoyed about three minutes of silence.

  “Mary Anne, could you turn on the hallway light?” Marilyn suddenly called out.

  “EEEEEEEEEEEEYYAHHHHHHHH!” Carolyn shrieked.

  Mary Anne ran upstairs. Carolyn was huddled in her bed. A book lay on the floor by the door. “Take it away!” Carolyn cried.

  “What’s wrong?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Scary pictures!” Carolyn blurted out.

  Mary Anne scooped up the book, Dr. Dredd’s Wagon of Wonders. It was lying open to a drawing of a dragon attacking a boy and girl.

  “Mary Anne,” Marilyn said timidly, “can we watch TV?”

  Mary Anne let out a sigh. “Come on down.”

  Into the family room they went, after a detour to the kitchen, where Mary Anne retrieved the remotes.

  “Do you still have free Boxoffice Busters?” Mary Anne asked as she pressed the ON button.

  Carolyn nodded.

  “What channel is it?”

  They both shrugged.

  Mary Anne crossed her fingers and began to channel-surf.

  Baseball … news … basketball … war movie … cooking show …

  “… Last week we took you behind the scenes of an anim
ation studio,” a voice narrated over a montage of movie clips. “This week we go to the world of live action!”

  “This looks good,” Marilyn said.

  Mary Anne sat back.

  “Our feature tonight is, ‘The Making of Horrorville’!”

  Oh, groan. Mary Anne quickly pointed the remote.

  “Leave it!” Carolyn cried.

  “I can’t,” Mary Anne said. “Your parents don’t want you to watch —”

  A severed head leered out from the screen.

  “AAAAAAAAAAUGH!” screamed the twins (and Mary Anne, too, I’ll bet).

  “So you see, the latex is coated with oil to give it a shiny texture,” said a voice on the screen.

  The camera zoomed back to show a balding guy in a cable-knit sweater. He cheerfully lifted the head up and admired it. “Horsehair is sewn into the scalp and matted down with a little shoe polish,” he continued. “We created a mold for the mask’s realistic features, using my assistant, Reginald.”

  Reginald entered the shot, grinning. He looked exactly like the head.

  Marilyn and Carolyn were riveted.

  “Many of the effects were the work of our computer animators.” The man was now walking into a room where four people were clacking away on keyboards. “A two-second sequence, in which a man appears to ooze out of an electrical outlet, actually took a week to put together. First, we scanned the actor in a variety of positions and fed the coordinates into the program.”

  A grid appeared on the screen, showing the outline of an actor jumping slowly.

  “The computer then compressed the limbs and added blurring to simulate fast motion …”

  On the grid, the actor’s outline squeezed at one end like a balloon. Next, the final version appeared: the “monster” who emerged from the outlet.

  “That is sooooo cool!” Marilyn said.

  Mary Anne put down the remote. It was cool. And the opposite of scary.

  The narrator showed how an actor’s eye was “built out” with makeup to make it look as if the eyeball were dangling. Then two scenes were shown — two children running in a field, and a flying vulture — and superimposed to create the illusion of a giant vulture chasing the kids.

  For an hour, all the horrifying stuff was explained and demonstrated. Mannequins exploded, stuntpeople fell into big cushions, and plastic packets of fake blood were pinned onto actors’ clothing and splattered by remote control sensors.