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“I mean, we’d match, which wouldn’t be a bad thing, right? We’ll look cohesive. Like a kick-ass team. Co-agents.” I scoff. “Not that you really earned the title, but whatever.”
I shake my head. Jesus, I’m losing it!
But the commission alone on this deal could be almost a million dollars.
Izzy sucks on her bottom lip again, and I press a soft kiss to her forehead and inhale her sweet baby scent. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, but I have to do this to you. It’s for college, okay? I’m thinking about you here.” I snag the jacket off the hanger and head back into her nursery.
Determined, I grab a black sleeper with fancy gold buttons on the front and frilly lace on the butt. I lay her on the changing table and start the process of changing her diaper and getting her dressed.
She fusses when cold air hits her bare skin, but a quick pacifier to the mouth proves to be just the trick in keeping her calm. Once she has a clean diaper and her sleeper is in place, I doctor the jacket as best I can and begin to put it on her.
“So, yes, I know this is big on you, but trust me, that’s a good thing. When you get to be my age, everything starts to get tight and uncomfortable.”
Izzy fusses, and I nod as I adjust her pacifier in her mouth.
“Don’t let it bother you, honey. Eleanor not liking kids says everything about her and nothing about you. I, personally, think you’re the most fantastic thing in the whole wide world.”
I slide both of Izzy’s arms into the sleeves and roll them up as much as I possibly can.
“But for today, I need you to think Hollywood. You’re just a very tiny, very privileged adult…who prefers to be pushed around in a stroller.”
Izzy stretches out her little legs, her feet pushing the material of the jacket away from her body.
“Just think of yourself as a rich Manhattan socialite who has been fed from a golden spoon your whole life.” I pick her up from the changing table. The jacket hangs way past her little body, but the rolled-up sleeves at least give her some room to hold her little hands together like she always loves to do.
She sucks on her paci, and I stare down at her. “Today, you’re a diva. But not, like, a fussy, crying diva. A diva who shows her annoyance through silence. Understand?”
Izzy pushes the paci out of her mouth with her tongue and immediately starts crying.
“I’ll take that as a no, and hey, I understand your frustration, but this is not the vibe we need, girlfriend.”
Her cries get harder, and all of a sudden, I kind of want to cry too.
This is insane. Like, I’m truly approaching the criteria for being committed.
I mean, how in the hell am I going to get through an entire showing with Eleanor Waverly, a true Manhattan socialite who could very well be crowned the biggest bitch on Fifth Avenue, while pretending my very real, live-action baby isn’t a baby?
God help me.
Izzy’s cries continue, and I head into the kitchen and make quick work of a bottle. Once I pop it into her mouth, she lets out a few quivering breaths and starts sucking.
“You have about ten minutes to finish this thing off and then we should probably change you again and then we need to go. Capisce?”
Izzy sucks harder on the nipple, and I take that as her silent agreement.
I hear my phone chime from somewhere in my bedroom, and while I juggle Izzy in my arms and her bottle in her mouth, I hurry down the hallway and start the process of trying to find the damn thing.
Thankfully, I spot it on the bathroom counter and snag it off with a quick hand while my chin keeps Izzy’s bottle stable to her greedy lips.
I almost roll my eyes when I see the sender, but a big, obnoxious smile gets in the way.
He just can’t help himself.
Remy: How are things going today?
How are things going today? Ha. That’s the question of the hour.
I consider lying, but as my anxiety sucks at the organs inside me, I think better of it. The truth will set you free.
Me: It could be better.
Remy: Uh-oh…what’s going on?
I sigh and snap a quick picture of Izzy and send it to him.
Me: Client hates babies. Fingers crossed she just thinks Izzy’s a really tiny adult.
His reply back is instant.
Remy: Holy hell, Ria. LOL.
Me: I KNOW. It’s so ridiculous it’s comical, but I’m trying to juggle all the things today. And, well, juggling all the things when you have a baby to take care of ends with you having to go to a showing with said baby, even though the client loathes kids.
