Page 34 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“This is the next frontier, Georgie,” Hector offered, which told her nothing.
“The next frontier is grown men dressed up as put together hobos who sing about babies? No offense,” she said to the men, who’d stopped singing.
“None taken. That’s what we were going for,” the taller of the two replied with a friendly strum.
Hector raised his hands like a carnival barker. “CityBeat Rattle. We’re getting into the baby business,” he said, piling on the drama.
The stout man slung the tambourine under his arm, then plucked a trio of baby rattles from his pocket like a gypsy Mary Poppins and started juggling.
“Meet Lenny and Stu. They’re the hottest thing on the baby music circuit,” Barry added.
“And toddlers and preschoolers. Our chant, ‘The Clean-up Chicken Dance,’is used in early childhood education classes across the globe,” the tall man with the guitar replied.
“That is quite an accomplishment,” she offered, still not sure this was happening.
She reached over and pinched her husband as the short rattle juggler slid the baby toys back into his pockets.
“Ouch! What was that for?” Jordan exclaimed with a startle.
“A reality check,” she answered.
“Good call,” he whispered back, rubbing his arm.
Georgie’s thoughts went to her literary trifecta. But the girl wizard and Georgian-era ladies sat stupefied with no advice to dispense on the topic of internet baby sites.
These three were no help today!
“You’re starting a new company?” Jordan asked.
“Not a new company—an offshoot,” Bobby replied.
“And now we’ve got CityBeat’s sweethearts, welcoming their own bundle of joy, to bridge the gap from our main site to our parent-friendly domain,” Hector added as a topsy-turvy wave washed over her.
No, no, no, no, no, no!
She plastered on her beauty queen smile, which she only used in dire situations. “But Hector, we don’t want to make anything public yet. Remember, I haven’t told my mother.”
The man waved her off. “That’s not a problem. The site won’t be up and running until late July. You’ll have delivered by then—and hopefully, told your mother,” he answered with a chastising lift of his eyebrow.
“And all the content we put together will be archived until then,” Bobby supplied.
“And the timing couldn’t be better,” Barry added.
Jordan crossed his arms. “For what?”
“Lenny and Stu are leading the first-ever CityBeat Rattle Battle of the Births,” Hector answered, in circus ringmaster mode.
For Pete’s sake!
“The what?” her husband exclaimed.
“We tested Battle of the Babies, but people thought it was aHunger Games-typecontest with infants, and they didn’t seem to like it,” the CityBeat producer replied.
She cringed. “Well, yeah! Who would want to see babies fight each other?”
“Surprisingly, men aged fifty-two to fifty-eight and women seventy-seven to seventy-nine. But they’re not the age group we’re targeting with CityBeat Rattle,” Barry answered with a grin that seemed very misplaced, even if he were proud of the data and stats.
Battling babies shouldn’t be palatable to anyone!
