Page 56 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“How about I make a deal with you? If a guy greets us at the door with a tub full of rubber cocks, we head for the hills and never look back,” he offered, straight-faced.
Georgie smiled her real smile, the one she gave him each time he stepped foot in her bookshop.
She pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Deal. Rubber cocks at a baby challenge will be a hard no in our playbook.”
“Look at us! We’ve got standards and everything,” he said, feeling pretty damn good. Then, he opened the door and found…
Nothing.
Well, not nothing.
“Isn’t this place great?”
They turned to find Barry, their trusty CityBeat producer.
“What’s going on here?” Georgie asked.
The enormous space stretched out before them with individual rooms divided by clear plexiglass. Couples stood in each sectioned off area, waving their hands and moving around while wearing a head covering.
“Those are top of the line virtual reality headsets. This place is a tech junkies dream,” Barry explained, pointing to several couples engaged in God knows what.
“I don’t see a whole lot going on,” Georgie said, staring at a man who cradled nothing but air and rocked from side to side.
Barry held out his phone. “Everything in here can be viewed via the Battle of the Births app.”
Jordan looked on with his wife. “There’s an app?”
Barry shrugged. “There’s an app for everything. Here, give me your phones. My job is to get you all uploaded and Battle of the Births ready—at least, with the tech side.”
“Is this a virtual reality parent training center?” Jordan asked, glancing at the vast space as a cameraman in a CityBeat T-shirt hung back and filmed their entrance.
“That’s right,” Lenny said, emerging from behind a frosted glass door in non-hobo attire.
“We’re not only the hottest musical duo on the toddler scene. We’re also making the baby prep experience high-tech,” Stu offered, following close behind, and also not dressed like a hobo.
Jordan almost didn’t recognize them.
“Take a look. We have access to everyone’s feed,” Lenny said, holding out an iPad.
It all made sense now. That man rocking side to side was holding a virtual baby. A woman who looked like she was kneading imaginary dough was changing a diaper.
“That’s amazing,” Georgie said, her gaze bouncing from the screen to the actual humans moving awkwardly in clear boxes.
“And I see you’ve got your infant care simulation doll. Good, good!” Stu said.
“Yep, and Faby is safe and sound and in one piece,” Jordan answered, grateful Mr. Tuesday hadn’t chewed the fake kid’s arm off.
“That’s right! No baby shenanigans with Faby,” Georgie added with a toothpaste commercial smile.
Did they sound like used infant care simulation doll salespeople? Most likely, but it was better than having to explain that their dog had taken the doll on a wild romp through Denver.
“Who’s Faby?” Barry asked.
Jordan tapped the doll’s button nose. “This is Faby. It’s a fake baby, so, Faby.”
Lenny and Stu pursed their lips.
Were they not supposed to name the baby? Were they supposed to simply call itdollorplastic infantorchild simulation? Those sounded clinical and drab. Faby had a nice ring to it.
