I didn’t want to go back out into the hall, where several people were hanging out or hooking up, sprawled on the floors and draped over chairs. I’d had to step over them on my way here.
My shirt was useless for this task, some synthetic stretchy sparkly rayon that wouldn’t absorb anything. It scratched me mercilessly anyway. There had to be something here to soak up extra milk.
I wished we were at Dylan Wolf’s, where I at least knew people and could ask for help. This was some other guy, some hotshot newcomer who already had a duet with Selena Gomez in the works.
I searched through the closet, but it was empty except for some boxes and a couple sealed suit bags. I looked back at the bed.
I didn’t want to do it. But I would have to.
I jerked back the covers and grabbed a pillow. The pillowcase was Egyptian cotton, high thread count. I fumbled to pull it off while holding the howling baby. I had to set her on the bed to get it done. Finally, it came free.
“Sorry, rock-star dude,” I whispered as I pressed it against my boob and squeezed. I could see why Phoenix was having trouble. It was hard as a rock.
I worked it for a couple minutes, placating the baby with a milk-covered finger. The pillow was thoroughly wet before I felt like I’d gotten enough out to try latching her on again.
Thankfully, this time, she went right on. I sank onto the bed in relief. I glanced over at the soaked pillowcase. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. No telling what bodily fluids got spilled in back bedrooms at parties like this. I’d just leave it on the corner and let his cleaning people manage it. I had no choice. I wasn’t exactly going to tug on his sleeve in the middle of a party and explain that he had breast milk all over his guest-room pillowcase.
Now that my panic was waning, the sounds of the party filtered through the walls. I could hear exactly what I was missing.
Someone had hooked up an electric guitar and was banging out chords. Then a piano filled in a melody. After a minute, somebody sang something and a bunch of people joined in.
Uggh, I was missing it all!
I closed my eyes, trying to find peace with Phoenix and the wonder of motherhood. But I kept picturing the fabulous celebrity-filled Tweets and status updates going on out there. And Chance! He was so oblivious to the whole thing. He probably wasn’t taking a single selfie with all the rock gods.
I’d been working with a movie studio the last eight months, running the social media for four of their stars. I knew what it took to stay in the public eye and how to build fan energy for a release. This was a killer opportunity. Tons of the target market was sitting around bored after a day with family, tapping on their phones, and we could be providing them links and pictures to peruse.
Uggh. Come on, baby!
Phoenix was contentedly slurping away. I felt frantic and stuck, wondering if I dared venture out with a baby attached to my boob. I mean, the whole open-breastfeeding movement was a thing. Maybe I could catch a quick shot with some musician PLUS go viral with the earth-mama angle.
My brain whirred. Yes, this would work. I just had to figure out how to arrange this clunky shirt. It was tight and hard to maneuver, hiked up over my boobs right now, revealing the damp cotton maternity bra. I knew I should have made time to go to that trendy shop with the sexy nursing wear!
I headed over to a dresser with a tall mirror. I tugged on the shirt, trying to cover my bra on one side. I despaired over the fleshy bits of my still-deflating stomach that lapped over my skirt. Why did it have to be so tight now? It was shoving skin in all the wrong places.
My eyes pricked with tears. I lifted the skirt higher, trying to avoid exposing too much belly.
That was better. Only the bottom edge of the bra showed. I could hold the baby just the right way to hide that plus any belly bulges. I turned right and left, examining myself in the mirror. Yes, this would do. I wouldn’t go viral for all the wrong reasons. That was always my biggest fear. It was one thing to be a big celebrity and get caught in a bad shot or compromising image.
It was another thing entirely to be an average Joe who ended up becoming the next Ermahgerd.
Phoenix was still sucking contentedly. I unzipped my tiny purse and awkwardly tugged out my phone with one hand. I’d have it unlocked and ready for pictures. I’d take some of Chance, of course. Then some selfies.
My heart sped up just thinking about it. This was what I lived for. The baby didn’t have to slow me down. I could do this. I could do it better. I mean, who doesn’t want an image that also supports a good cause?
I lifted one of Phoenix’s cute slippered feet and kissed the toes. “We’ll do this together, baby girl,” I said. “Take on the world.”
When she was back to her perfect position, I opened the bedroom door. The halls were empty now, the raucous singing drawing everyone back into the main living area. I could picture the scene. Rock stars, beautiful people, talent and fame, all having a blast on a holiday weekend.