Undercover In High Heels

“Come on in; everyone’s already here, ” she chided.

Hey, I was only fifteen minutes late. That was a record for me!

“Ma, ma!” the Terror yelled, toddling across the carpeted living room floor. He had on a teeny-tiny pair of chinos and a dress shirt that was already stained with three different colors of baby drool. Instinctively my new heels and I took a step back.

“That’s right, Connor. Maddie’s here.”

I gave the little person an awkward wave. It’s not that I don’t like kids. Kids are great. I might even have one someday. It’s just that I was never quite sure how to talk to them. Somehow I couldn’t do the high-pitched mommy voice Molly did, but I felt slightly ridiculous talking to a drooling, baldheaded guy in a diaper as if we were meeting at Starbucks for lattes. So, I settled on the noncommittal wave.

“Hey there, big fella, ” Ramirez said, leaning down and giving Connor a high five.

Connor blew him a spit bubble. “Ablablabla!” he screamed.

I resisted the urge to cover my ears.

“What do you want, Connor?” Molly asked. “You have to sign it. Sign it to Mommy.”

Connor blew some raspberries and yelled, “Abooo-boooboo.”

“Sign it, Connor. Mommy can’t understand you.” She turned to me. “We’re teaching Connor baby sign language. All the experts agree that it’s the best way to foster early communication skills and ensure proper conceptualization of interpersonal dynamics at a young age.”

Connor smiled at me and drooled onto his chinos.

Oh yeah, a baby genius in the making.

“Now, ” Molly said, crouching down and slowly enunciating to the drooling wonder, “use your signs and tell Mommy what Connor wants.”

“Mabooooogoooo, ” he yelled, going red in the face.

“Use your signs, ” Molly prompted.

The Terror stomped one foot, then let out a wail that could wake the dead. “Mamabooogooooooo!”

He raised one chubby fist in the air and, I could swear, lifted his middle finger.

How’s that for sign language?

Molly sighed and shook her head. “We’re still working on it, ” she reassured us. “Anyway, come on out back, everyone’s here.” She grabbed Connor under the armpits and slung him onto one ample hip as she led the way through the Fisher-Price-littered house into the spacious backyard, strung with streamers, balloons, and HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY signs. Molly’s brood of munchkins were on the lawn playing some kind of game that involved sticks, paper hats, and lots of loud war whoops. A pony sat in the corner, being petted by my cousin Donna’s kids, and under an oak tree Molly’s husband, Stan, was stringing up a big blue pinata shaped like a dog. On the patio sat an inflatable Spiderman-themed jump house filled with shouting kids and my teenage cousin Johnny, who recently started wearing his hair in a green mohawk. My grandmother sat straight backed in a deck chair, sipping lemonade and plugging her ears. I spied Mom and Faux Dad standing next to the jump house, glasses of merlot in hand.

Alcohol. Just what was needed to make it through a family gathering unscathed.

“Let’s find the booze, ” I mumbled to Ramirez as Molly’s oldest came running toward us, swinging a toddler- sized wooden baseball bat and yelling for candy.

Ramirez jumped back just in time to avoid being pinata practice, mumbling something in Spanish. (I’m guessing it was something along the lines of, “Gotta remember to buy condoms.”) “Good idea.”

Near the back fence, Molly had set up two folding tables, both covered in bright red-and-blue tablecloths. Trays of cookies, cupcakes, candies, and a jumbo-sized birthday cake shaped like a blue dog sat on the first table next to a big bowl of red punch. The second table held clear plastic cups, a beer cooler, and boxes of wine.

Ramirez grabbed a beer and moved over to the corner of the yard as Molly’s kid came in for another swing. I opted for wine box number one, an indistinguishable pink wine, and filled my glass to the brim.

“Hi.”

I spun around.

Then I let out a little eek as I encountered a man in thick white makeup with a bright red nose, standing close enough that I could smell the breakfast burritos on his breath. His hair puffed out in red curls all around his ears, and he had a big goofy smile painted over his lips. The effect was supposed to be cute, but with him standing so close, it was kind of creepy. I took a step back.

“How’s it goin’?” the clown asked.

“Uh, fine.”

“Got any more of that?” He pointed to my glass of pink stuff.

“Excuse me?”

The clown stepped around me and flipped the tab on box number two, filling his plastic cup with cheap merlot. He tilted his head back and downed it in one gulp. “Wow, that hits the spot.”

I blinked. “Uh, hello?”

“What?”

“You’re a clown!”

He stared at me. “Yeah. So?”

I gestured around at the backyard full of little people. “Don’t you think you should be setting a good example?”

Drunkie the Clown refilled his glass, taking a long swig. “Cut me some slack, doll face. I’m only doing the clown gig ’cause they fired me from Days of Our Lives.” He downed the second glass, then walked away, his oversize shoes squeaking with each step.

“Did he just call you doll face?” Ramirez asked, coming up behind me. His eyes narrowed as he popped the top on a Heineken.

“Okay, everyone! Pinata time!” Molly yelled.

Kids poured from every corner of the yard toward the oak tree, nearly knocking the grown-ups over in the process. Johnny barreled through, loot sack in hand, and pushed his mohawked self to the front of the line.

“Birthday boy first, ” Molly declared, extricating the tiny wooden baseball bat from her oldest and handing it to Connor. At first his chubby little arms could barely lift it, but then, as she tied a bright red blindfold over his eyes, he seemed to get the hang of it. He lifted it over his little bald head like a miniature caveman.

“Can you see anything, Connor?” she asked.

“Maabaaagooo!”

“Oh, this can’t end well, ” Ramirez murmured in my ear. He casually rested one hand at the small of my back, and I suddenly couldn’t care less what Connor did with that bat. I tried to tell myself it was inappropriate to get turned on at a child’s birthday party.

“Okay, here we go, honey. Swing for the pinata.” Molly gave Connor a nudge in the general direction of the blue dog. The other kids danced on their tiptoes, poised to make a dive for flying candy. Connor toddled forward and swung, missing the pinata by a good two feet.

“Lower, Stan, they can’t reach it.”

Stan let the slack out on the pinata as Connor took another blind swing, this time barely missing Faux Dad.

“Lower, Stan!”

Stan lowered the pinata again. This time Connor swung so hard the momentum spun him around and he knocked into the clown (who seemed to have refilled his glass yet again).

“Lower! For heaven’s sake, no one’s going to get the candy like that. Lower, Stan!”

Stan lowered.

I backed up as Connor went in for another shot. He took a swing that came nowhere near the pinata. (Though it almost knocked Johnny in the shins.)

“Uh. Maybe we should take the blindfold off…” Mom said.

Too late.

Connor took one more Barry Bonds-worthy swing and came in direct contact.

Unfortunately, not with the pinata.

I saw it happen in slow motion. Connor spun around, wielding the bat like a club. Faux Dad jumped back. Molly lunged for the Terror. Mom yelled, “Look out, ” and Ramirez turned around just in time to catch Connor’s wooden