Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: I own nothing, and no offense is meant to any real person or business mentioned in this work of fiction.

Art Imitates Life

by

Dafni Laurel
(dafnilaurel@yahoo.com)

Pouring another glass of orange juice to wash down the last of his toasted English muffin, Max came to a decision: he needed to jump right back on the proverbial horse. Sure, he’d been confused and befuddled by his shopping spree with Fran. But it was to be expected, he reasoned; transitions were rarely smooth, and as they adjusted to their resolutely decided upon friendship, there were bound to be a few bumps along the road. However, Max was not about to give up on what he still deemed was the best course of action for he and the object of his befuddlement. Friendship with Fran was, he felt, the only sensible way to deal with whatever attraction there was between them.

He knew he’d been avoiding her as best he could for the past week – ever since their shopping spree; ever since that kiss. Why did their best-intentioned interactions always seem to end in a physical encounter? That was precisely what Max had hoped to avoid, since it only ever seemed to lead to confusion, misunderstanding, and hurt feelings.

In spite of himself, Max smiled at the memory of their outing to the mall; he marveled at how easy it had been to let that saleswoman continue in her assumption that he and Fran were married. Not just easy; it had been nice. Comfortable. In retrospect, though, too comfortable for Max. If that woman hadn’t encouraged him, he’d have never viewed Fran in such a blatantly desirous way when she’d come out to model her potential purchase. The garments had been stunning on her, the red nightgown and matching robe had made her skin look so milky and smooth, especially in stark contrast to her dark cascade of hair.

He’d been positively drawn to her. A heavenly body caught in her gravitational pull. ‘You know, Miss Fine, if I were to ever have a woman alone in such an outfit, I'd have to take my time exploring every inch of her...’

Max gave his head a shake, in a futile attempt to bring himself back to reality. However, he simply ended up setting his elbows on the table, and dropping his head into his hands. A groan of frustration uttered forth, as he recalled the way he’d followed up his overtly sexual comment in Victoria’s Secret with another flirtatious line in the limo. The one he’d purposely left open-ended, leaving it up to Fran’s imagination to envision what, other than foot massages, he was known to be good at.

Next thing he knew, she’d been kissing him. And he’d been kissing her back – wanting to be doing so very much more to her.

Groaning louder, his face still buried in his hands, Max’s frustration at his own lapse in judgment didn’t go unnoticed.

"Sir, was it the orange juice too sour? I told Miss Babcock to stay out of the kitchen after she curdled the milk."

"No, Niles. It’s fine. I’m fine," Max brushed him off, ignoring Niles’ catty remark about CC.

"Hmmm, hmmm," came Niles’ skeptical reply. Under his breath, he muttered, "If only there were a certain ‘Fine’ involved, then you probably would be ‘fine.’"

"What, Niles?" Max absently inquired.

"Oh, nothing, sir. I just need to iron some of the fine linens," Niles covered as he exited towards the kitchen carrying the children’s breakfast dishes.

Alone again, Max did his best to snap out of his wallowing, and was able to regain the resolve he’d begun his now half finished glass of orange juice with. A steely resolve. After all, they’d kissed before and had gotten over it. This would just be another in a line of kisses between friends. Friends kissed now and then, didn’t they? It was just another sign of affection and of how comfortable they were with each other. Just like the hand holding, and that didn’t mean anything other than genial camaraderie. They’d done that dozens of times; kissing was the same way, wasn’t it?

Max just needed to be sure the kissing thing didn’t happen too regularly. Perhaps now and then, he mused, his hand rising to meet his mouth as he contemplated the idea; but he just wouldn’t allow the situation to get out of hand the way it had in the limo last week. He’d just have to set the boundaries early on during their next outing. No ambiguity to confuse them. Black and white guidelines would serve them best.

Feeling much better, and feeling ready to face Fran once again, after having employed some avoidance tactics all week, Max knew he just needed to dig in his heels and make this work. They were friends.

Not lovers. Friends.

Not potential lovers. Friends.

Not kissing-every-time-the-situation-allowed friends. Just friends.

As if on cue, Fran returned to the dining room after seeing the children off to school. Dressed in what could only be termed a ‘school girl’ outfit herself, Max couldn’t help looking her up and down. In the short, plaid skirt, and tight, cropped white blouse, Fran certainly didn’t mimic what the girls had looked like in his day, but Max was appreciative none the less. In fact, very much ‘more’ than ‘less.’ He wished that when he’d been a teen, girls his age had looked like that; though he certainly wouldn’t have gotten much studying done if they had.

Never one to miss when she was being appraised by a member of the opposite sex, Fran enjoyed what she knew Max believed to be a sly gaze at her figure. The fact that she could practically feel his eyes raking up and down her body made her positively warm and tingly all over. Friends didn’t mentally undress friends that way.

"Mr. Sheffield, what’re you still doing here? You’re usually in the office by now." Fran busied herself with helping Niles gather the last of the breakfast dishes.

"Well, Miss Fine, CC and I finally cast the lead in our one woman show, and I thought I’d celebrate by having an easy morning."

"Hmmm, some celebration," Fran remarked sarcastically. "A large glass of juice and an extra English muffin. You outta celebrate with Yetta; she at least throws in another spoonful of Metamucil."

"I think I’ll pass, thank you. But if you’d like to help me celebrate, Miss Fine, how about taking in a movie with me this evening? You know, a friendly, celebratory outing." Max hit the word ‘friendly’ with emphasis to let Fran know that this was his effort at them spending some time together away from the house, as friends.

Fran raised her eyebrows and considered her boss; her would-be lover, if she had her way. She suspected she’d thrown him completely off kilter with that kiss last week. That had, in fact, been her intention. After the way he’d spoken to her in Victoria’s Secret, trailing his fiery touch down her hairline to her bare shoulder, Fran’s resolve had hardened – she would illustrate to him, so that there could be no doubt, that being merely friends was something they could never go back to.

And the way he’d flirted with her in the limo as he rubbed her feet had been the perfect build up to a kiss. And, boy, what a kiss it had been – Fran’s memory of the way he’d fanned his fingers in her hair to draw her closer was as fresh as if it’d happened moments before.

But it’d been a difficult week for Max, and Fran knew it. She’d worried a little that she’d gone too far with the kiss. But he’d been the one who’d made that remark in Victoria’s Secret; he’d started it! ‘You know, Miss Fine, if I were to ever have a woman alone in such an outfit, I'd have to take my time exploring every inch of her...’

Focusing back on Max, trying not to get caught up in the memory of how she’d melted inside at the sound of his whispers in her ear, Fran concentrated on his necktie, and, as she answered his invitation, she couldn’t resist – just out of principle, mind you – playing hard to get.

"Well, Mr. Sheffield… that sounds an awful lot like a date. Besides, I told Val I might go with her to her line dancing class in The Village. They say there’s nothing like an urban cowboy."

"Well, if you don’t think you can handle seeing a movie with a platonic friend..." Max let the sentence fade away, tossing her a challenge he knew she wouldn’t let pass.

Fran silently scolded herself for setting herself up that way. And now frustrated, and a little nervous, that with that darned kiss she’d perhaps helped bolster his determination to remain friends, she needed to change tactics.

"No, no. I just didn’t want *you* to be uncomfortable. Movies are a traditional ‘date’ outing, you know."

"Miss Fine, don’t be silly. It was my idea, after all. Besides, what’s there to be uncomfortable about?"

As their eyes met, they both knew exactly what there was to be uncomfortable about. His words to her in Victoria’s Secret; that kiss in the limo… Tempted as he was, Max resisted the urge to make another firm declaration about the merits of being ‘just friends.’ He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, after all.

Fran’s goal was to simply get Max to the point where there was nothing but comfort between them. Ironically, comfort between them was precisely what made him uncomfortable. Oy, what was a girl to do?

Still not ready to issue forth a firm ‘yes,’ Fran asked, "What movie did you have in mind?"

"The Cineplex on West 34^th is showing ‘Houseboat’ on Friday. You do like Cary Grant, don’t you? I realize he never appeared in a movie with Barbra Streisand…" Max smiled at his Barbra tease.

"Who doesn’t love Cary Grant? That accent, that hair…" Fran got in a little teasing herself. She knew Max’s ego thrived on his unique accent and thick head of hair.

With that, the date was set for the ‘friendly outing.’ Gathering the rest of the dishes and heading towards the kitchen, Fran pondered the challenge she had on her hands, and she strategized – how best to set Max up for the realization she knew he’d ultimately have to come to some day: being ‘friends’ was just not an option for the two of them.

Max remained in the dining room, reminding himself over and over, like a mantra, that being in a dark room with Fran wasn’t a bad thing, nor was it something he should be distressed about. Friends went to the movies all the time. Every day, millions of pairs of friends went to the movies together. They’d just be two more.

************

"Miss Fine!" Max bellowed, leaning on the railing and looking up the stairs in earnest.

Pushing himself off the railing in defeat, he paced the area at the foot of the stairs. Between laps, Max fiddled with the buttons on the cuffs of his French blue button-down shirt. Max put on his game face and thought how silly women were for taking so long to prepare for an outing – ignoring, of course, the amount of time he’d taken to choose his own outfit for the evening, and how many times he’d made Niles iron some article of clothing, only to discard it as a possibility. He really was looking forward to a relaxing evening; it wasn’t often that the casting for a show went so well, and he thought it was a break well earned.

At last appearing at the top of the stairs, Fran checked her self one last time in the gilt-framed mirror that hung large and heavy on the wall of the landing. Straightening her snug sweater across her chest, she felt confident that she’d chosen wisely this evening when it came to her clothing. It’d been a difficult process; Fran sensed there was a fine line between being too obvious and being too subtle. It had to be just the right thing. In her determination to prove to him that their attraction was too strong to deny, she still wanted him to believe that she was making an effort towards his friends plan.

Descending the stairs, Fran swayed her hips with each step down. A quick glimpse at Max told her that he’d spent a bit of time himself assembling his ‘look.’ She recognized every stitch of clothing in his closet, and this combination wasn’t one she’d ever seen him assemble for work, or even for one of his few outings with women. With humor, Fran imagined Niles being sent hither and yon to mend buttons or roll a lint brush across a garment before it was tossed aside for something else. With his shirt tucked neatly into his casual but tailored khaki pants, she did appreciate the way his rear looked, as he walked to and fro.

"Mr. Sheffield, you look very handsome; relaxed."

As he always did, even in spite of himself, Max felt a sudden surge of pride at being able to produce a compliment from Fran on his appearance. What man wouldn’t? As she came down the last few stairs, Max admired her form. With a second-skin pair of jeans on and an extremely-form fitting black sweater with two zigzag stripes of bright blue and orange strategically designed to lie across the chest, Max quickly suppressed an errant thought about what those curves would feel like without the barrier of the sweater in the way.

"And you look beautiful, as well, Miss Fine." Before continuing, Max took a moment to enjoy the smile his remark produced. "Ready to go? Or do you need to change the color of your lipstick or something?"

"No," Fran scolded, recognizing the gentle tease for what it was; then she thought about it for a minute. "Do I? I started with MAC’s ‘Powerhouse,’ considered ‘Liza Red,’ but went with ‘Eager.’ You think I should switch back to ‘Powerhouse?’"

Rather than give a quick answer, Max found himself seriously considering the matter; not the least of which was the very name of the shade she was wearing – ‘Eager.’ While Fran soaked in his scrutiny, pouting her lips to full effect, Max focused on her mouth; her full, soft, oh-so-kissable lips. He tried to remember what color she’d been wearing last week when they’d gone shopping, but he couldn’t recall. Startled by his own ‘eager’ urge to find out if her lips tasted the same, regardless of the color, Max decided he’d better move the evening along before he did something rash.

"Miss Fine, you really look lovely. The lipstick is perfect." Max smiled a stiff grin, anxious to turn the subject matter away from her stunning lips.

Taking the compliment and running with it, Fran took a quick step forward and gave him a peck on the cheek, which, of course, required her to use her thumb to wipe away the red smudge she’d left there.

Automatically closing his eyes at her affectionate motion, Max kept them shut, taking the opportunity to enjoy her closeness and breathe in her fragrant scent as she worked to make the mark disappear from his skin. It was a bit of a slip from his determination to not get distracted from their friend status, but he indulged nonetheless. He just couldn’t help himself.

Not realizing her effect on him, Fran blithely turned from Max to fetch her coat. Taking a moment to regroup, Max was just in time to help her on with the second sleeve of her coat. Grabbing his own jacket to guard against the slightly chilly fall evening, Max gave himself a rather harsh mental scolding. His attempt at a friendly outing to the movies was not working out as easily as he’d hoped. He felt as if whatever perspective he’d gained over the past week was quickly being eroded, simply by being in Fran’s company.

********

The limo ride to the theatre began shrouded in an awkward silence. Max’s frustration at being so easily swayed by Fran’s mere presence was maddening. Why did he find her so beguiling? And what respectable adult couldn’t control his physical attraction to a woman with whom he knew a relationship was a very dangerous idea? He was Maxwell Sheffield, after all; a gentleman, not some sex-crazed hooligan who couldn’t keep his libido under control.

Fran could sense Max’s heavy mood as soon as they’d entered the limo. She knew he was probably battling his feelings, and part of her felt sorry for him. True, it’d been her plan to drive him to this distraction, to put him in a situation where he’d have to face the facts that, for them, there was no room for friendship anymore. But it was her very affection for him that made her heart break a little at seeing his mood turn dark and feeling him withdraw from her. Not just because of his emotional distance, but she hated to see him in pain.

In a manifestation of her affection for Max, Fran moved across the space between them to sit just to his right. With no ulterior motives designed to induce a physical response from him, she took his hand in hers and held it in her lap, wanting only to provide comfort to someone she loved.

Max immediately felt reassured by the act. He felt a degree of amazement at how this woman had come to mean so much in his life. And how much he’d come to depend on her flooded his thoughts. Relying on someone for that kind of emotional strength was the very thing he feared most. It was the very thing that could leave him vulnerable to the pain he’d felt when Sara had died. Still, he couldn’t ignore the instantaneous comfort her touch provided. Blithely shoving aside any thoughts about a potential physical aspect to their relationship, Max did his level best to employ logic to reassure himself that perhaps this was what his friend plan was all about: comfort and love between he and Fran. She made him feel better; that’s what friends were for. And he hoped he was able to do the same for her, as any friend would.

From that point, the ride to the theater, even through the evening traffic of the city, was completed in comfortable silence. Max’s denial that the warm feeling in his gut was anything more than simply the pleasure of close friendship was at an all time high; while Fran was content to soak in the easy rapport between them, sensing Max’s relaxation since she began holding his hand.

*********

Once Clevis had dropped them off at the theater, however, the mood between Max and Fran changed from friendly to competitive. Seeing Max approach the box office while reaching for his wallet, Fran decided that, in spite of every instinct to always let the gentleman pay, she would insist upon buying her own ticket. This was, after all, not a date. Plus, she knew Max would find it irksome, and she sometimes could just not resist toying with him.

"Miss Fine, don’t be silly."

Full well knowing it would vex him all the more if she turned the issue into one based on his own resolve to remain merely friends, Fran gave her baited reply, "Mr. Sheffield, how can you respect me as a friend, if I let you pay for my ticket?"

"I think I can manage." Irritated, as she’d expected, Max knew she’d gotten his goat; and had called him at his own game. The truth of it was, he liked paying for her and spending his money on her; it was a ‘safe’ way to express his feelings of protectiveness for her.

Receiving his change, Max turned to hand Fran her ticket, smug that he’d thought of a way reverse the situation. "Here you go. You can buy the snacks. Will that make you feel better?"

"I don’t have a problem being treated; I just don’t want you to expect something at the end of the evening if you pay for everything – if you know what I mean." A hint of flirty teasing graced her tone.

"Why would I think that, Miss Fine? After all, I already know you’ll be spending the night at my place tonight." Max smiled, feeling rather pleased with his retort.

"Oooh, so confident! I love that in a man." Enthusiastic as always, Fran linked her arm through his as they navigated the crowded lobby.

Leaning over to speak softly into her ear, as if sharing a state secret, Max replied. "Well, I’ve been told I’ve got plenty to feel confident about."

"Oh, Mr. Sheffield!" Fran practically squealed, squeezing her body closer to Max’s.

Damn it, he was doing it again: getting suckered into flirting with her. But it was practically impossible not to, he tried to reason.

With a cough to cover the slight discomfort and not-so-slight pleasure at the image of demonstrating his confidence to Fran, Max decided it was probably best to end this little round of teasing. Besides, there was a fine line between teasing and torture, and tempting himself with images like those were close to torture. "Um, I’ll find seats for us, it’s rather crowded."

********

Although disappointed that he’d run off just when things were getting fun, Fran knew they were getting into dangerous territory – at least where Max was concerned. She still wished he could just let go and allow their sexy banter to play out to its logical end. One in which he could illustrate for her precisely what he had to be confident about. Everything from his physical attributes to his skills as a lover flashed through her mind in a most pleasant fashion as she waited patiently in line to purchase their snacks.

After forking over a far more than reasonable amount of cash for a tub of popcorn and a drink so large in size it rivaled the popcorn container, Fran studied the dim theater for Max. Her eyes scanned row by row for the thick head of dark hair and that gray streak that she considered ‘hers.’

As she lighted upon that very head, Max turned and caught her eye, and waved his hand at her. Making her way to him and settling into her seat, Fran handed Max the drink and popcorn while she shed her coat and arranged it behind her.

"My God, Miss Fine, we did have dinner at the house, you know."

"It’s the ‘Val-U Combo,’ it was cheaper than anything smaller. And, look – I got us two straws. Mine will be the one with the lipstick; you won’t be able to miss it."

As they continued to chat about the cost and volume of movie theatre snacks, Max and Fran settled into an amicable chatter. This was exactly what Max had envisioned when picturing the benefits of friendship with Fran. However, it was also precisely what Fran had in mind when she drew the conclusion that they were past the point of mere friendship. This was the kind of companionable company that lovers, or husbands and wives, shared.

With the dimming of the lights, Max and Fran were forced to whisper the rest of their conversation about how Brighton had come home from school that week with yet another warning from his English teacher about talking in class, and they finally fell into silence as the movie previews began.

Images flickered on the screen for upcoming classics that the theatre would be screening. A Hitchcock festival was in the works for following month, and when scenes of ‘The Birds’ appeared, Fran grabbed onto Max’s arm and buried her face in his chest to shield her eyes from the frightening images of the birds attacking.

Max suspected she was exaggerating her fear, but he didn’t mind it one bit. The idea of being her protector appealed to him immensely, and, when the violin screeches of the ‘Psycho’ theme song began, Fran hid herself against him once more. Max’s hand came up to touch her head, and he threaded his fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp in a comforting rhythm. So automatic and natural was the gesture, Max wasn’t even aware he’d done it until several moments later, when he realized a preview for Notorious was playing, and Fran really had no need to keep hiding her eyes.

Loathe to relinquish the position she now found herself in – being caressed and held close by Max – Fran could hear his heart beating inside his chest, and thought she could lose herself there forever. Max found that he was a bit sorry the movie tonight was a romantic comedy; he, too, could’ve held her that way all evening. Although he hoped she wasn’t cognizant of the fact that his heart rate was escalating by the minute.

As the moments dragged on, Fran eventually had to sit up as the main feature began, before her reluctance to leave his embrace became embarrassingly obvious. Settling back into her seat, Fran sipped the soda and placed it back in the holder in the armrest between them. Max held the tub of popcorn in his lap, tilted towards Fran, so they could share.

Taking turns grabbing up small handfuls of popcorn, they set up a rhythmic pattern, repeating it every few minutes. Fran smiled at the way things seemed to just fall into place when they were together; and Max’s heart warmed at the comfort he felt just being together with Fran. It was almost the opposite of how Fran was much of the time; she exuded such exuberance, and at top volume, so often, but this was one of the things that most attracted Max to her – her softer, more quiet side. It was something he liked to believe that she didn’t share with just anyone.

Now and then as they munched, Fran’s fingers would bump into Max’s hand as they both reached for the popcorn. Whispered apologies accompanied each bump, and both parties assumed they’d been the one to be too anxious to reach for the snack. Each time it happened, Max noted how slender and smooth her fingers felt against his, and he couldn’t help grabbing onto them in a playful attack over who would ‘win’ the next handful of popcorn.

Battling as quietly as possible, Fran’s giggles reached Max’s ears and he began to snicker as their fingers tangled and fought for control over the popcorn. Someone sitting in front of them turned around to issue a curt and annoyed, "Shush." As they did, the tub of still half-full popcorn tumbled to the floor, starting Max and Fran snickering all over again.

Truly not wanting to disturb the other theatre patrons, they leaned closer to whisper silly accusations.

"Miss Fine, control yourself!" Max admonished softly into her ear.

"If you weren’t so greedy, Mr. Sheffield, we’d still have some popcorn left," Fran accused, nudging her nose into the crook of Max’s neck in an attempt to find his ear. Not that she minded the detour; the musky, masculine, yet clean, scent of his aftershave and the smoothness of his skin there were wonderful sensations to her, immediately producing a tingly sensation throughout her body.

"I’m not the one who started it," Max turned to say, taking issue with her assessment of him as ‘greedy,’ but rather enjoying this close, whispered conversation.

And, even more pleasant for Max, he found himself mere inches from Fran’s lips. All thoughts of the other patrons around them fled; the movie playing in the background was all but forgotten. Her scent, her very essence wafting towards him, enveloping his senses, seemed to take him over. The sensory overload combined with the fun they’d been having seemed to result in this natural pull he was feeling towards her lips. A tensing in his body and the anticipation of kissing her tingled through him, filling him with a heady confidence. He could practically taste her already, and the electricity buzzed between them.

A loud laugh from the audience around them prevented Max from bridging the last scant few centimeters between his lips and Fran’s. They both jerked back, aware suddenly of their public surroundings.

Dazed from the ‘kiss that wasn’t,’ Fran sat back in her seat, and tried to concentrate on the movie. She mentally uttered a silent curse to the screen for showing a funny moment at just the wrong time. This kind of camaraderie and easy rapport between them was just what she’d wanted to illustrate to Max. Being friends wasn’t an end in itself. With emotions and chemistry involved, progress and escalation weren’t something that they could stop.

Max chided himself silently for his slip of self-control. It’d just seemed like the right thing to do. Almost as much as remaining friends with Fran had felt like the right decision. And, frighteningly for Max, it seemed, perhaps, even more right. At least, right then. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? It couldn’t be about the right thing at the moment. There were consequences to consider, and that was what his friend plan was designed to combat.

*******

As the movie’s premise unfolded, it became overwhelmingly clear to both Max and Fran that the plot of ‘Houseboat’ mimicked their own situation rather closely. Cary Grant was a widower with children he hardly knew. Sophia Loren played the role of the nanny who’d never intended to become a nanny. And an undeniable love was developing between the two.

Fran stifled a giggle, which turned into an un-ladylike snort, when she saw Max sinking farther and farther down in his seat. He even put his elbow on the armrest and shielded his face with his hand. He’d obviously just lighted on the parallels between the movie and his own life.

Max bemoaned his choice of movie once again. A thriller would’ve definitely been the better choice. But, now, faced with a cinematic representation of his very own situation, Max had become quite uncomfortable. This movie had been his choice - what was Fran thinking? Would she think he’d picked it on purpose? He presumed the movie had a happy ending; something terribly romantic with no real life applications at all; and he thought it terribly unfair how things in the movies, and even in theater – his very own profession – rarely reflected the all too painful realities of the true human experience.

Hating the frosty feeling in the air between them since Max had put up his arm in a Berlin Wall-like stance, Fran edged his elbow from the armrest with her own, effectively knocking his arm down.

Jolted off balance, Max looked sharply at Fran, who merely treated him to a sweeter than usual smile – part Mona Lisa, part Cheshire Cat. Rolling his eyes, Max aimed his elbow back towards the coveted spot, and shoved.

Soon, a match of pushing and shoving began, followed quickly by hands slapping at each other. Their shared soda almost met the same fate as the popcorn as it teetered on the edge of the cup holder it was occupying.

"What, are you two in high school or something!?" a voice behind them said in a harsh stage whisper.

Max and Fran both sank low in their seats at the scolding. Still smacking at each other’s hands, they finally reached a sort of détente, their fingers intertwining and coming to rest together on the armrest they’d fought over.

As they held hands and relaxed back into the movie from their little ‘spat,’ Max marveled at how, twice in one day now, Fran had seemed to sense his darkening frame of mind and, with her mere touch, had turned his mood completely around. Squeezing her hand, he felt an incredible rush of affection for her, and, with out a second thought, he leaned over to kiss her cheek softly.

******

Feeling decidedly better about the silly theme of the movie, Max relaxed into enjoying the light, romantic plot. Fran was feeling quite relaxed herself, holding hands with Max; although she wondered if she’d eventually have to hit him over the head with a two-by-four to get him to realize that whatever worries he had about how close they might get if they were to become physically involved were moot. They’d already gone past the point of no return when it came to emotional attachment. She just wanted him to let go and be able to enjoy the pleasures she knew they could find in each other.

Grabbing their soda with her free hand – not wanting to let go of Max’s hand for one moment – Fran ensured that she was using her own straw, and she took a long sip, sighing a tiny breath of air as she replaced the cup in the cup holder. Fran so loved a happy ending like the one that was taking shape on the screen, and she didn’t mind one bit that the entire premise was so similar to her life. Besides, who better to have a happy ending with than Cary Grant, she thought lightly.

As Fran placed the cup back down, Max reached for it, still feeling thirsty from the popcorn. As he took a long pull on the straw, he realized that it was the straw Fran had been using. The absolutely unmistakable taste of lipstick invaded his mouth and mingled with the zing of the carbonated drink. The sensation startled Max, and he had to roll his eyes at the notion that he just couldn’t get away from reminders of kissing Fran Fine. Not that it was a bad memory to recall, but it was doing nothing for his resolve to keep their relationship platonic. With that thought, he took another sip.

*********

Slightly chilly in the night air while they waited for Clevis to fight the traffic to pick them up, Max and Fran instinctually huddled together to ward off the night breeze. Max curled his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close.

"Not something that would’ve ever happened in real life, but it was certainly entertaining," Max mused.

"Well, I don’t know about that…" Fran said under her breath, taking issue with his dismissal of the likelihood of the plot line. She was fairly certain he was bluffing, but she didn’t really want to call him on it, lest it lead to an uncomfortable discussion or a heated argument; or him letting her out of his wonderful embrace. Going for a more neutral angle, Fran spoke up a bit louder. "Kinda like ‘The Sound of Music,’ but without the nuns, the Nazis, or the singing."

Laughing, Max agreed, but noted almost absently, with a tone of wonder in his voice, "Although, ‘The Sound of Music’ actually did happen in real life."

"Yeah, but, ya know, the real Captain Von Trapp had a big, bushy beard. I like the clean shaven look better." Turning in his arms, Fran let the palm of her hand cup Max’s face, to illustrate her admiration for a man free of facial hair.

Max’s heart leapt at her touch, and, as he looked down into her eyes, the whole of his physical being longed for her so much that he could feel the ache begin at his core and envelope his entire body. Covering her hand with his, he moved her touch from his face to hold between them as he bent to kiss her.

It was a warm, friendly kiss, but one brimming with potential. They both took a step closer to angle their bodies to fully face one another, and the electricity between them was powerful. Breaking apart, breathless from the simple kiss, Max breathed her name, "Fran," as he leaned to fully capture her mouth.

A rude tooting of a car horn interrupted anything that might’ve followed. Clevis was on the street right beside them, getting impatient to usher his charges home.

Being in Max’s arms on a chilly evening wasn’t a position that Fran wanted to yield, especially considering she was sure their kiss was about to take a turn for the serious.

In the span of five seconds, Max’s emotions ran the gamut from being initially angry at the disruption to feeling gratitude towards Clevis for arriving in the nick of time. He’d been about leave reason behind, and it could’ve been a disastrous mistake.

Turning swiftly, and practically dragging her to the limo, Max continued to hold Fran’s hand until they were seated inside – on the same bench seat, but on opposite sides of the vehicle. The ride home was quiet, although not unfriendly. Both Max and Fran found themselves thinking a lot about the movie, and their own situation, as the limo wove in and out of the busy New York streets.

Max tried to convince himself that their sidewalk kiss had been a friendly one. Friendly right down to your toes and your you-know-what, he thought, frustrated with himself. Taking slow, calming breaths, Max attempted to reason with himself – friends can kiss and not have it change their relationship, right? He was, in fact, doing everything he could think of to rationalize a continued pattern of physical affection towards Fran, while keeping up the image and intention of his friends plan.

In the back of his mind, however, Max wondered how long he could keep up with this kind of ‘casual kissing’ behavior. He knew that kissing Fran drove him to distraction. It had sent him into a virtual tailspin, the last time it’d happened. This time, he determined, he wouldn’t flee. He’d simply forage on with the notion of maintaining merely a friendship status between them. Although he feared that there’d come a day when he wouldn’t be able to blithely go on with things ‘as is,’ and he had no idea what scared him more – insisting on putting a stop to any physical contact between them or, one day, not being interrupted by Clevis, or his own fears, and being allowed to follow through on some of the fantasies he’d had about going to bed and making love with Fran.

Try as he might, Max couldn’t get a handle on his own feelings about the situation, and that frustrated him to no end. He’d never liked feeling out of control, but with Fran, with this ‘situation,’ his emotions were taking him on a near constant roller-coaster ride. One minute, he was ready to throw caution completely to the wind and give in to the urge to press his body to Fran’s and explore the taste of her, completely and fully, right there on the sidewalk! And, the next, he was thanking the fates that Clevis had shown up when he had.

He’d thought the dangerous consequences of giving in to his carnal desire for Fran were so clear. However, he also found himself now contemplating, with increasing regularity, the erotically pleasurable consequences of just giving in to those desires. But up until very recently, he’d concentrated so hard on what felt like the very real possibility of a painful outcome of any coupling between them, that he now decided perhaps he needed to reconsider, long and hard, about what exactly the consequences would be – the bad and the good.

As the ride home continued in silence, Max and Fran let their far-apart positions on the seat slide gradually closer. Both leaning their hands to the space between them, fingers inevitably brushed against one another, and, soon, they were holding hands.

Still gazing out the window on her side of the car, Fran smiled at the feel of his soft, warm hand. She mused that this was the kind of friendship that she could handle quite easily. In spite of whatever goals she’d set for herself to disrupt his oh-so-smug plan, she’d genuinely enjoyed the private time they’d spent together – shopping, or at the movies tonight – away from the house, the kids, CC, and Niles.

Yes, indeed, kissing on a regular basis was just fine with her. Although, disrupting the happy thought, she acknowledged that it wouldn’t be something they could keep up for long. Fran knew that for a while it would be fine; the kisses would be innocent enough, or in a public enough place, that they wouldn’t have to deal with anything that might develop from those kisses.

But, as with every relationship, there would have to be progress. Their affection for one another, and their powerful chemistry, would prompt them to a need for further explorations of their physical relationship. Fran knew that she could handle the changes that becoming physical with Max would entail, but, until he made the emotional and mental shift within himself, the ‘stolen’ kisses would be just that – stolen; taken from a man not ready to give himself to her. Fran didn’t want to revamp her plan to essentially force Max to make that shift, but she decided that she needed to be wary of the possibility of pushing him further away.

Sighing simultaneously, Max and Fran turned their heads to look at one another with questions and concern in their eyes. Small smiles, mixtures of sweet longing and slightly bitter fears, mirrored one another as they headed home, but a comforting squeeze of their hands together made them both feel that they’d get through this, and, in some way, they’d help each other through it, no matter how long it took them or what the outcome was.

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