"How does it feel to be 114?" they asked loudly so she could hear them.

"What do you eat? What do you like to do? Do you have a favorite president?" Then, the most popular question, and the one Baines dislikes most: "What's your secret?"

"Why all these questions?" she snapped back. "I want to know."

"Because you're remarkable," one reporter said.

"Because you're No. 1," a nurse chimed in.

Baines turned her eyes, dimmed a cloudy blue by age, toward the tiled floor, unconvinced. The supercentenarian is as struck by this latest swirl of interest as people are by her age. The death of 115-year-old Maria de Jesus in Portugal on Jan. 2 made Baines the oldest person on Earth, according to the Gerontology Research Group, which validates claims of extreme old age.

As she slept the day away in her robe, unaware of her distinguished title, a media frenzy started to build outside the Western Convalescent Hospital. Headlines splashed Baines' name around the globe, and Guinness World Records noted the new titleholder.

It would be a week like no other for Baines and the staff and residents of Western Convalescent, a modest Los Angeles facility that has been her home since a broken hip prevented her from living alone with the help of a caretaker at the age of 107.

By last Tuesday, the interviews, visitors and questions had become too much, and Baines excused herself from the commotion.

"I just want to go to bed and pull the covers over my head," she said to her nurse.

1 in 6 million chance

Gerontologists are eager to study her genes. Senior citizens at the center long to be like her. "Wonderful, and with hardly any wrinkles," said Azlee Ross, 85.

Chances are 1 in 6 million that any of them will get past 110, let alone live four more years to reach Baines' record. Next in line at the hospital is Ruth Stewart, a 101-year-old retired X-ray technician from Kansas. And next in line for the world title when Baines passes away is another American, 113-year-old Beatrice Farve of Georgia.

The older people are, the more they grapple with aging, said Dr. Thomas Perls, head of the New England Supercentenarian Study at Boston University.

"We look at people like Gertrude and have a sense of what it could be like," he said. "You figure they must be doing something right."

Genetics is key, he said, adding that the longest-lived person in history is recorded as Jeanne Calment, a Frenchwoman who lived to 122.

Favorite caretaker

As reporters prepared to leave Baines' room last Tuesday, Cynthia Thompson, her favorite caretaker, leaned in to speak to her.

"See how much they admire you?" she told her.

"I hope they are satisfied," Baines said, breaking into a smile.

The next morning, an interview with a Chicago radio station was canceled because Baines would rather not talk on the phone. A visit from CNN also was called off. And a commemorative ceremony requested by Los Angeles County Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas was postponed.

Baines wants her weekly routine back, starting with 10 a.m. church service.

A former maid who was married, divorced, and whose daughter died of typhoid at 18, Baines has outlived all her relatives. Yet she is often the resident with the most hospital visitors. The walls and door of her room are a shrine of birthday cards, honorary certificates and letters from the mayor, the governor and the president.

First-timers, especially children, sneak up delicately as they would to a wounded bird, hoping to steal a glimpse.

"They expect to find a shriveled-up old lady sleeping in her bed," Thompson said. "But that's not Ms. Baines."

The lady of Room 239-A will lift her head off her black ballerina pillow and say, "Young man, what are you doing? What do you want? Come in."

Reasons for longevity

As the number of centenarians has increased in the past decade, those like Baines have offered different reasons for their longevity. A 115-year-old woman in Indiana recommended more education; a 112-year-old in Australia said living a comfortable life with servants helped; in Nebraska, a 110-year-old stayed busy; and in Missouri, a 110-year jokingly credited men and chocolate.

Baines is more frank. She has no secret. She refers people to God, saying simply, "Ask Him."

For almost a decade, Thompson, the cheerful assistant nurse who could be her great-great-granddaughter, is the only person Baines has allowed inside her world. On Thompson's days off, Baines refuses to get out of bed.

Thompson changes her robes, tucks her hair under one of her many hats and wheels her to lunch in the dining room. Baines washes her own face and rubs a pinch of Vaseline over her cheeks, her one beauty routine. Most important, the caretaker never pries.

Baines, in return, opens up. She tells Thompson she's not afraid to die, but she is afraid to be alone. She talks about Shellman, Ga., her hometown; about her father, an ardent Democrat believed to have been a slave; about riding to church on Sundays in a horse-and-buggy.

Now and then, her eyes well up as she talks about photographs and belongings left behind in storage. And when Thompson gains a few pounds, Baines seizes the chance to tease her.

"She's a blessing," Thompson said. "It's an honor that she trusts me."

Earlier this year, when a TV camera crew filled her room, she joked with Thompson:

"You stick with me. I'll take you all the way to Hollywood."

Midweek, as reporters continued to call the hospital, Thompson returned to Baines' room to prepare her for lunch. The two women expect things to quiet down now at the hospital. And that is just fine.

Because busy days are bound to come again. Three months from now, it will be time to celebrate her 115th birthday.