Schuyler Square Day 83 Chelsea is Very Forgiving

"I've decided what we should do," Peter Van Husen told his wife Chelsea. "I think you should have the baby and give it to Mavis and me to raise."

They were sitting in Chelsea's kitchen, once Peter and Chelsea's kitchen but now Chelsea's alone. Chelsea was surprised to see that Peter looked as if he no longer belonged in the room. She had decorated with a country motif and Peter, in his cashmere sweater,fancy slacks and expensive haircut looked decidedly out of place with her chicken patterned wallpaper.

Chelsea snorted. "I'd rather leave this baby in the woods and let wolves raise it before I let that happen. Are you serious? You think I'd let you and that Jezebel raise my child? What am I supposed to do while you two are playing Mommy and Daddy? Sell Amway?"

"Chelsea, be reasonable," Peter requested. "Mavis has more money than either you or I could ever dream of having. She could give this baby an exceptional life--private schools, ivy league college, vacations in Europe-what can you offer the baby except mediocrity at best?"

Chelsea was crushed. "That 'mediocrity' was enough for you for years and years," she reminded her estranged husband. "I don't recall either of us being born with silver spoons in our mouths and we turned out all right."

"You want that for this kid--just 'all right' when we could offer him the world on a string?"

"There's more to life than money, Peter."

"I know that. I also know that being rich is way more fun than being poor. Mavis has shown me that."

Chelsea looked at Peter. Since moving in with Mavis he'd put on weight and his face was puffy, his waistline a little paunchy. The lean, handsome man she remembered was looking more and more like a gigolo with every passing week but Chelsea forgave him for that. Once he moved back in with her, the gigolo look would fade along with all of his memories of being rich and locally famous by proxy. "Mavis Schuyler will never raise my child," she said flatly. "Not that she'd ever want to. Does she even know we're pregnant?"

Peter looked pained. "You're pregnant, not me."

"Well, I didn't get in this condition by myself." Chelsea felt her face suddenly flush as she recalled the one night stand of revenge sex she'd had with Peter's co-worker. There's no way anyone could be this baby's father but Peter. What are the odds that your five minute fling resulted in mommyhood? About a zillion to one.


"What do you want from me, Chelsea? I'm not coming back."

"Then I expect you to be there for our child. Even if you don't love me anymore, you still have a responsibility, Peter."

"I know that and I plan on being there for our child. It's just that you'd make it much simpler if you'd let me raise the baby in Schuyler Manor."

"So you think you're going to be staying there for the long haul?" Chelsea questioned. "I've heard that Mavis is seeing Mario Ponti. They were seen being quite chummy while he blew out her hair."

"Who the hell is Mario Ponti?"

"Only Schuyler Square's best hairdresser."

Peter frowned. "You mean that little guy who wears the red jumpsuits? You've got to be kidding He looks like a garden gnome!"

Chelsea enjoyed watching the irritation mount in Peter's face. "Mr. Mario is quite sexy," she informed him. "All the women have crushes on him but he's no dummy. He always goes for the ones with bucks--like Mavis."

Peter got to his feet. "I can see this conversation is going nowhere fast. Think about my offer, Chelsea. It won't be on the table forever." He stomped out of the back door. From her chair, Chelsea watched as he got into his truck and roared off. Patting her slightly rounded stomach she said in a soothing voice, "Not much longer, baby, and Daddy will come back to both of us."

Schuyler Square Day 43 Tiffany Gets Ready for the Ball and Blackmail

“I’m not going.” Tiffany stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror that hung in her bedroom. “I look like a blimp.”

“You do not!” Rosanne lied. “You look lovely, Tiffany.”

Tiffany reached for a Dorito. She knew Rosanne was just trying to be nice but it wasn’t helping. Anyone not carrying a white cane could see that Tiffany looked awful in the bright blue dress Aunt Mavis had chosen for her. Studying her reflection more carefully, Tiffany decided she didn’t look like a blimp. She looked more like a giant sized Papa Smurf, especially with the stupid hairdo Aunt Mavis had insisted she get. How could she have been so dumb as to listen to her aunt. You'll look beautiful with ringlets, Tiffany! You'll be the belle of the ball! When, Tiffany wondered, was she ever going to wise up and stop listening to her relatives?  Especially when they seemed so hell bent on embarrassing her. “I don’t see why I was invited to this stupid ball anyway. It’s a fundraiser and I’m not about to contribute to it. I'm too young to go anyway, and I don't have a date.”

“Buying your ticket is your contribution,” Rosanne explained. “Just about everyone in town is going. Your aunt has worked very hard on this party. Your cousin Tyler will be there.”

“Tyler! Who cares if Tyler's going! Tyler's a creep. Are you going?” Tiffany asked, looking at Rosanne out of the corner of her overly made up eye.

“Yes, I am.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said just about everyone in town was invited,” Tiffany remarked. “Even the hired help.” She usually wasn’t quite so snotty with Rosanne but she didn’t seem to be able to help herself. Tiffany was seriously miserable. Not only did she look like a mess in the ugly dress Aunt Mavis was making her wear, she was also upset that in spite of her latest diet she hadn’t lost so much as a single ounce. That might be due to the fact that she was only sticking to her diet during daylight hours. So far her theory that calories didn't count in the dark was proving to be a big bust. Then there was her blackmail scheme. She hadn’t been able to get her aunt alone for more than a minute or two to drop her bombshell about seeing Aunt Mavis with Officer Van Husen making out in her aunt's car or sneaking into that crappy motel. Tiffany was getting pretty miffed about that. She needed a car of her own and if she couldn’t blackmail her aunt into buying her one, she didn’t see how else she could swing it. The money from her mother’s estate was all tied up and all she got was a measly allowance that barely saw her through the first weekend of every month.

"Um...is your nephew going?" Rosanne's nephew, D.J., was seriously hot. If D.J. was going to be there that would mean he'd see Tiffany looking like Papa Smurf on a bad hair day. Tiffany knew she'd die if that happened.

"No, D.J. couldn't afford a ticket. If you won’t be needing anything else, Tiffany, I’m going to leave. I need to get ready for tonight too.”

Tiffany could just imagine how long that would take: twenty-five minutes tops and that included  stopping at Kmart to pick up her dress and a new fake nail kit. Thank God she hadn’t been born poor. Tiffany knew she’d never have been able to stand it. "Thanks for helping me, Rosanne."


Rosanne didn't respond but Tiffany had the feeling that she'd ticked her off. She'd make it up to her somehow.

“Aren't you ready yet?” Aunt Mavis asked, sweeping into the room on a cloud of perfume.

Tiffany’s eyes began to water. “I'm not going.” What was the point? D.J. wouldn't be there. No one she liked would be there, including her own family."

Mavis stared at her, her eyes sweeping up and down over Tiffany's rotund figure. “What did you say?"


"I said I'm not going. This is your party, Aunt Mavis. You don't need me there."


"I want you to be there. This is a family affair."


Tiffany returned her aunt's icy stare. "Good choice of words. 'Family' and 'affair.' That reminds me--what's Officer Van Husen's wife wearing to the party tonight?"


"What are you blathering about, Tiffany? How should I know what Officer Van Husen's wife is wearing?"


"I don't know. Just asking." Grabbing the bag of Doritos, Tiffany finished it off and then brushed her fingers together in the air.


“Honestly, Tiffany, do you have to fill your mouth every single second? Can’t you think of something to do that would keep your mouth so busy that you wouldn’t be eating all the time?” Aunt Mavis snapped.

“Sure,” Tiffany agreed. “How about talking? Cuz there’s a thing or two I want to go over with you. Unless you're not in the mood to talk because I'd be glad to stay home and talk to myself.”


Mavis's mouth formed a thin line. "You really are the most revolting child. I think it would be a very good idea if you stayed home, Tiffany. We'll talk later."


"You bet we will," Tiffany promised.