by
Aimee
(aimeed@earthlink.net)
"Have you found anything?" Sarah asked, holding up a length of pale green tulle. She put it down in favor of a pale blue.
C.C. sighed, tossing her pen down on the desk in frustration. "How did you know what I was working on?"
"Because you've got that little wrinkle between your brows. You only get that when something's not going right with work."
C.C. cupped her chin in one hand, toying with an orange peel with the other. "I've been offered three very good positions, two in Manhattan and one in Boston. The problem is, they're just basic number crunching and investing. Nothing at all creative. I was hoping for a position as a business manager for a record company or a production company or something with a little excitement and glamour."
"Going to miss the stage?" In college, C.C. had at last been talked into acting, though only in school productions. She'd never be great, certainly not professional quality, but she usually managed a supporting role, and she loved the limelight. In the last year, she'd verged into directing and other behind-the-scenes work, which she'd found more to her taste. C.C. understood more about how a play ran than anyone else at Bryn Mawr due to her talent for taking a lot of small details and weaving them neatly together. The trendy new catchphrase for what C.C. did was "micromanaging," and she was a master of the art.
"Yes, I will. I suppose by the end of the week I'll accept one of the Manhattan jobs so I can get back to my city at last. Although, I don't suppose -- "
"What?" Sarah asked, eyes sparkling. She'd seen it coming. Subtlety was not her best friend's strong point.
"That your fabulous Maxwell might know of anyone who's looking for a genius investor with great connections and some piss-ant experience in college theater."
"I can ask," Sarah replied, though she already knew exactly how to help C.C. "Now, you're my maid of honor. Would you rather wear blue or green?"
"Bright red."
"You may not wear bright red."
"Then I choose blue."
"Pale or dark?"
"Dark. The contrast is more dramatic."
"But I had my heart set on robin's egg blue."
"Oh, god. Whatever makes you happy. If you can get me entrée into the theatrical community, darling Sarah, I'll strut down the aisle in black leather and purple velvet if you like."
Sarah tilted her head to the side and pretended to seriously consider C.C.'s offer.
"Maxwell," Sarah said, "I do believe you're going gray."
"I am not! I'm not even thirty." Maxwell snuggled closer to her on the couch. "Anyhow, if I'm getting a bit gray then you're becoming a trifle plump."
"I am not! How dare you talk about your daughter that way?"
"I'm just relieved the wedding's next week, or everyone will be talking about my daughter that way."
"Maxwell, you are so adorably Victorian. You know, they do say it's always the quiet ones."
"Ain't that the truth," said a voice behind them, making them both jump sky-high. "After all, I'm just as quiet as can be."
"When you're asleep or listening at the door, maybe," Sarah said dryly. "Hello, Niles."
"Hello, Miss Rush. Yet again you come over, tease me with that pretty smile, then cuddle up to that big dumb rich gray-head over there, and do you even bring a friend for me to seduce?"
"With what, your manly dusting technique?" Max inquired acerbically. "Have there been any more calls about the secretary position, Niles?"
"Not a one, sir. Of course, the last one did spread it all over New York that you're a slave-driving maniac -- "
"With a libertine butler," Max finished. "Just put down the tray and go, Niles."
"Of course. You need your privacy." Niles winked. "Miss Rush, don't do anything with him that I could do better."
"Niles!" snapped Maxwell, as Sarah laughed.
When Niles had gone, Sarah turned to him and said, "You know, darling, your problem is, you don't need a secretary, you need a robot."
"Yes, well, with the amount of money I've put into ads, I could fund the development of artificial intelligence."
Sarah snuggled up to him. "It's too bad you can't find a financially talented workaholic who loves theater with a passion and has fabulous connections."
"And why can't I find this paragon, because you haven't introduced me to her yet?"
"I wouldn't say that. You met her last week. It's C.C."
"Miss Babcock? Your best friend Miss Babcock?"
"Precisely that Miss C.C. Babcock. Maxwell, the woman wants to work in theater so badly she'd cut off her head and let you use it for a production of the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and she's really a genius. And you already know how many connections she has. She got half of your current backers for you at our engagement dinner, sort of her audition piece before I talked to you for her. Now that she's over that I-don't-wanna-be-high-society-anymore thing she had going for a couple of years, she'd be worth millions in the long run."
"Possibly, but she's so young and inexperienced."
"So am I, and you’ve made me the mother of your child. Your new business associate doesn't deserve the same chance?"
"Business associate?"
"Well, darling, you know how much you need C.C., and she'd never agree to be a mere secretary. If you want her, you'll have to offer her better than that. I think the proper title and a chance to display her investment talents might be enough to entice her."
"When did I ever say I wanted to entice Miss Babcock?"
"C.C., darling, C.C.! She's practically going to be your sister-in-law in addition to your business associate."
"I don't stand a chance, do I?" Maxwell asked, resigned to his fate.
"No, Maxwell. You don't."
Sarah got back to the dorm very late that night because she'd had to travel from New York to Bryn Mawr. Luckily, her final exams didn't start for another day.
As she put her nightgown on, she looked over at the tranquil face of her roommate and best friend. In sleep, C.C. looked almost sweet with her long lashes sweeping her cheeks and her long hair spread out on the pillow. But Sarah knew from experience that in less than two hours, those eyes would snap open, she would spring from bed as if running a race, and the hair would be tightly bound into a ponytail or French twist. She'd put in a full day of classes, hit a couple of organizational meetings on the way home, spend all evening at rehearsal and then maybe go for a moonlit horseback ride at the nearby stables. She might toss in a little studying just as a formality, but C.C. had a "trick memory." She wasn't good with names, but facts and figures took root in her head and stayed there.
Sarah worried about C.C. quite a bit, and was glad she'd be able to keep her nearby after graduation. Sarah hoped to help C.C. out with a few less professional matters once they were safely back in New York Society. C.C. no longer showed any interest in romance, other than the odd affair that meant little and lasted a few weeks at the most, followed by long periods of total celibacy during which she lost herself in schoolwork and theater. C.C. had an eye for a handsome man, that was not in doubt, but she kept herself on a tight rein and ruthlessly cut anything from her life that interfered with the passionate pursuit of the career she'd longed for so long. Sarah and the brother, Noel, whom Sarah had met only once, were the only repositories of C.C.'s few secrets and dreams. One of those dreams had been to fit in, to be like other girls, but brilliant, aggressive C.C. was born to stand out and all the dark hair in the world couldn't hide her for long. She had soon given up that dream and done a complete turn-around.
"It was stupid," she told Sarah of her flirtation with being "normal." "I am a Babcock. I will never be anything else, and there are huge advantages to it. I like wealth and power. I don't like trying to be what I'm not, and I don't like making a fool of myself waiting for the approval of people I hardly know. They rejected me when all I wanted was to have a life. Now I'll show them what a life is." C.C. had proceeded to do just that. She rode life as though it was a mad race for perfection, scooping up every possible academic honor, meeting every challenge head-on. When she pursued men, she went after them the same way, throwing herself into her rare affairs with that same bizarre, C.C.-esque combination of passion and planning that made her an academic and professional star, but failed miserably when applied to her love life. It was the only way she knew to accomplish a goal, and being loved was a goal that she, like any other normal, healthy young woman, had. With no real experience of love even in her family, C.C. honestly had no idea why her approach was universally damned as cold-blooded and ambitious.
That was why Sarah had gotten C.C. the job. It was an ambition of hers to create a warm, loving family home and draw C.C. into its magic circle. Maybe through seeing Max and Sarah's love and the joys of motherhood, C.C. would come to want such love for herself.
Had Sarah only known, her plan was fated to work all too well. C.C. saw. C.C. understood. And C.C. wanted. But with her little experience of love, C.C. was unable to separate her desire for someone to love from the couple that was in love.
C.C. had never, even at the debutante ball when Harry proposed to D.D., experienced a greater humiliation and anger than when she, the newest employee of Sheffield Productions, watched helplessly as the Maid of Honor while her best friend married the man she had grown to want for herself. Having seen how Max loved Sarah, and having the natural, healthy desire to be loved herself, C.C. logically supposed that it was Maxwell who could give her that love.
But there was nothing she could do about it without betraying Sarah and jeopardizing her beloved new life as a Broadway producer, so C.C. pushed it to the back of her mind as one more piece of evidence that domestic bliss was not for her.
As far as domestics went, in fact, she was in hell. And Satan was right there waiting with a feather duster and a smart remark.
Niles couldn't for the life of him figure out what Sarah Sheffield saw in this Miss Babcock she'd insisted Mr. Sheffield hire as his associate. Granted she was an amazing businesswoman, with an acumen far beyond her twenty-two years, and she was admittedly pretty enough, with bright blue eyes and a body that begged to be touched, but she was trouble if ever he'd seen it coming.
She spent way too much time with those piercing blue eyes fixed on Mr. Sheffield's bum. Niles could practically smell the smoke as wheels turned inside that pretty, devious head. Still, it was no concern of his if she wanted to carry a torch for her boss. She behaved herself, and Sheffield Productions had never been more prosperous. In one year and with one production, Sheffield Productions had gone from a small but commercially successful company to Broadway's new darling, and if a certain brunette was making everyone's life hell to get it that way, nobody complained about the results or tried to deny that she was an expert in her field.
"I know how she feels," Sarah sighed when he tentatively brought it up. "And I feel so sorry for her. I just wanted her to see what love was like so that she'd want it for herself." Sarah stroked little Maggie's cheek. "How can C.C. not want this happiness for herself? Is she even capable of loving?"
"Of course she is, just like anyone else. For one thing, she must love you if she's keeping her hands off Mr. Sheffield. She doesn't strike me as the time to let anyone stand in her way."
Sarah raised her eyebrows at his perceptive remark. She knew Niles was insightful, but he'd obviously thought this out very carefully. "And what else makes you think that she can love?"
"She's so passionate about everything else. She doesn't do anything halfway. If she's supposed to stay until five, she never just works a few minutes overtime, I have to kick her out at ten p.m. after you've gone to bed. And when anything goes wrong, she may scream and curse, but you can bet she won't go to sleep until it's right again. Any woman that passionate about her job is capable of being passionate about another human being."
Sarah chuckled. "You've thought this out very carefully, Niles. Could it be you've a fancy to the lady?"
"Oh, no, not me. She's pretty enough, I grant you, but I like my women warm and approachable. Besides, she'd have herself committed before she'd give a butler a chance."
"You're right about that. My C.C. is ambitious, and I can't say I blame her. If she can take on the world, more power to her. If more women were like her, women wouldn't be making sixty cents for every dollar men make."
"If more women were like her, men wouldn't even have jobs, they'd have dog collars and mute buttons."
Neither had seen C.C. come in as Sarah spoke. But when Niles said what he did, she cleared her throat delicately. "Niles," she said snidely, "You with a mute button is something I'd pay to see."
Niles raised one of his odd, quirky eyebrows at her. "So you're used to paying?"
"Only for hit men -- and toilet scrubbers," she retorted.
A tradition had been begun. In a strange and twisted way, one more person had just been added to the small, jealously guarded list of people C.C. could rely on, even if he was a detestable pain in the ass.
C.C. was bewildered at the news of Sarah's latest pregnancy. "Another one?" she gasped. "Good lord, Sarah, how many do you have, twelve?" It sure seemed like it when they all burst into the office at the same time.
"Three, when this one's born," laughed Sarah, patting her tummy, where she'd only just begun to show. "And each one a joy. I guess ever since Maggie started school, I've been a little lonely and bereft without my baby girl so I just had to have another to play with Brighton!"
C.C. rolled her eyes. In a few short years, she had become one of the most powerful women in New York, and she relished every moment, but she was fast approaching a birthday she didn't even want to contemplate, much less celebrate, and that maternal urge had not yet touched her. Nor, despite her vows to find a husband and be illustriously married by thirty, had she yet found the man whom she loved enough to settle down with. The only consistent men in her life were her boss, her hated sparring partner Niles, and Sarah and Maxwell's diapered demon boy who constantly managed to interrupt everything.
At Sarah's coaxing, C.C. had gone out with the odd playboy or tycoon here and there, men who were socially correct, financially viable, and didn't touch her heart at all. C.C. knew she could have married many of them, for the matches were a mother's wildest dream, but she felt inherently that the slide into matrimony was too easy, too predictable, to be right. There was something she hadn't found yet, and none of them could give it to her. She couldn't have verbalized what it was, but she knew it wasn't there. She secretly wondered if she'd ever find it, but it wasn't in her nature to give up.
Somewhere in the house a baby was crying, but C.C. didn't care. She sat moodily on the sofa in the office wondering what happened to her fantastic life. She was wearing a perfectly glorious evening gown with jet beads and thin straps, and she'd been left behind to work while Maxwell and Sarah played. "We've got backers lined up around the block," Max had told her at the last minute. "No need to work the Babcock magic. Why don't you finish your paperwork and go have some fun?" Sarah had waved happily on her way out the door. The perfect couple. Much as C.C. loved them both, they were getting harder and harder to be around.
There was no fun to be had, and C.C. wasn't in the mood anyway. She loved being at those parties, she didn't want to be let off the hook! She, Sarah, and Maxwell were a team. She detested being left out of the loop. Max was their man, not Sarah's alone, because while he was Sarah's husband, and they had babies and family outings and Scrabble tournaments together, it was C.C. to whom he entrusted his money, his career, and the details of production that he had once only entrusted to himself. So when occasions like this came up, where she as Max's associate ought to be there and Sarah went alone with Max, it made her feel isolated and discounted.
The baby had stopped crying. Lord, it must be almost two years old by now, had C.C. cried so much at that age? Surely if you could talk you could say what you wanted instead of bawling about it. Oh, well, never mind about it. That was Niles' job.
Suddenly the door opened, and into the dimness came a golden, glaring shaft of light from the hall framing a stocky masculine body. C.C. squinted, feeling a primitive frission of dread as she recognized Niles, and as her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw that he was grim and unsmiling. He was wearing his coat and holding her evening cape.
"Come along," he said brusquely. "We have to get to the hospital. Mr. and Mrs. Sheffield have been in an accident."
C.C. wasted no time on words, only took the cape he handed her as they walked out the door leaving the children in the care of Sarah's maid, Katherine.
It was obscenely, wrongly sunny and beautiful the day of Sarah Sheffield's graveside funeral. C.C. had a vague feeling she ought to be carrying an umbrella, yet as she stood beside Maxwell looking down on the top of the wooden coffin, she knew that was ridiculous. It couldn't just rain because there happened to be a funeral. There were funerals every day. Just not Sarah's, not her only friend's.
A strange noise came out of her mouth as she caught back a sob. Maxwell's eyes flicked to her, then back to the grave as her face remained composed and impassive. A few feet away, Niles, surrounded by the children, gave her an odd look, as though he thought he ought to do something but didn't know what. C.C. turned away from him so that she was looking straight ahead at the smooth gleaming wood of the coffin being slowly lowered into the grave. She remained dry-eyed and her chin was lifted stubbornly. She refused to hear the droning of the priest or the sound of earth striking a coffin lid. Instead, she thought of the three-inch-high stack of neglected paperwork awaiting her back in the office. Normally she'd dread the thought, but today it was almost a relief because it would help her to keep focussed and allow her to cope.
She stayed through the funeral and remained at Maxwell's house until late that night in case she was needed, but Maxwell never left his bedroom, never answered any voice that called to him, and Niles had given up on him and was busy tending to the children and flirting with that maid, Katherine.
When she got back to her own apartment at last, she dropped on the sofa and tried to give in to the pain that ate at her, but when she dropped her head into her hands and awaited the tears that had stung at the back of her eyes for days now, nothing came. She'd struggled not to cry once too often to be able to give into it now when she needed to. What kind of person was she that she couldn't cry for the death of her only friend?
Six months passed, and every day the house grew darker. C.C. came seven days a week now, and her brisk, unemotional efficiency kept Sheffield Productions on a more or less even keel while she waited for Maxwell to be ready to take up the challenge of living again. It was she who did everything, even down to arranging therapy for his shattered, confused youngest child. The only help she had was Niles, who, thank god, knew how to run a household seamlessly and comfort the lonely, grief-stricken Sheffield children, two skills C.C. lacked.
So as Maxwell separated himself from them all and mourned alone, Niles kept the crepes on the table and C.C. kept the money coming in to pay for them. It was the only act of caring C.C. knew how to perform -- well, okay, the only one Maxwell would have let her perform. Naturally she had lots of ideas, but it was too soon. Maxwell wouldn't realize it until much later, but when Sarah died and C.C. smoothly took over for him, he had enough to live more than comfortably on for the rest of his life. By the time C.C. finished with a storm of merchandising and rearranged his entire investment portfolio, he could have supported them all until doomsday.
Gradually, he became able to cope, and took up the reins again. He proposed doing a new show, a revival this time, in C.C.'s opinion a great way to be incredibly creative without taking the risks of an entire new show. But he was never again the smiling, warm lively man he was with Sarah.
C.C., too, came out of her shell under pressure. She started to look around her. The added responsibility, while coming out of her own grief, had given her a calmness, an aura of power that sat well on her. One day she was even able to say to herself, Sarah is dead. I am not. What am I going to do with my life so that when I go, I'll be proud as hell of myself?
She briefly considered striking out on her own, but decided against it. She loved Sheffield Productions as dearly as if she'd started it herself. But she did make herself a promise that it would one day be Sheffield Babcock Productions.
Phoenixlike, C.C. rose from the ashes of her grief a woman, the last vestiges of girlhood irrevocably gone, ready to stop hiding from herself. She wanted everything life had to offer, but how to get it? What exactly was it, for that matter?
A husband. That was what was lacking. C.C. wanted to be married. She admitted to herself that she wanted to be loved the way Sarah Sheffield had been loved, and it was Maxwell himself she'd fixed on. She promised herself she'd keep an open mind. But she knew deep down he was her pick. She didn't mind the wait, it wasn't like she had any competition.
C.C. desperately needed a change, something to help her to feel alive again, so she did what millions of women all over the world did when their lives were a mess. She made an appointment to see her stylist. The stylist took her long hair down from its French twist to let it fall past her shoulders.
"Cut it all off," C.C. said. "I want to look as sophisticated and professional as possible, but I want to be beautiful too. And make me a blonde again."
When C.C. Babcock emerged into the sunlight again, she was by far one of the most beautiful women ever to leave that salon. Her hair curled fetchingly against her jaw, emphasizing her magnificent bone structure and making her eyes stand out like jewels. The sunlight glinted off a head that reflected the rippling molten gold of the sun itself. When she smiled her wicked smile, people stared. For despite her aristocratic features and her strictly professional style, there was a hint of wickedness, of mischief, she would never be able to completely hide. C.C. Babcock's face showed clearly that here was a woman who lived life boldly and with no compromises, by a set of rules all her own, and with a sense of humor that made a mockery of opposition.
C.C. enumerated her goals as unemotionally as possible, despite her pounding, eager heart: Become a partner in Sheffield Productions. Then, when Maxwell realized that he couldn't do without her, become his wife as well, and part of a family at last.
The first day C.C. arrived with her new look, something strange happened. When Niles opened the door to her, she waited for the inevitable snide joke. Instead, his mouth opened and shut again without a word. His naughty blue eyes had gone wide, and a grin came across his face that made him look like the very devil himself as he finally found his voice. "Nice look, Miss Babcock. Somebody must be paying well for that big a change."
C.C. glared at him and swept toward the office. Niles strode along behind her, eager to see Mr. Sheffield's reaction to the blossoming of this golden orchid. It had been a long time since they'd compared notes on a beautiful woman, not since the days before his wedding, as a matter of fact.
When Max rounded the corner and they all met by the fireplace in the living room, Niles gesticulated wildly at C.C. behind her back. Maxwell looked C.C. up and down. "Don't you look nice today. Did you, ah, did you do something with your hair? It looks good." Then he absent-mindedly passed them by.
Niles looked at C.C. C.C. looked at Niles. They rolled their eyes at each other. He was too clueless.
Then C.C. called out, "Oh, Maxwell!" There was an unfamiliar, sugar-sweet ring to her voice. When Max turned to her, she gave him a naughty smile and said, "I'll be in the office. Don't keep me waiting."
Max smiled absently at her, thinking that C.C. seemed to be in a good mood. He wondered if she had a new boyfriend. Well, good for her. She spent too much time at work.
C.C.'s eyes narrowed as Max continued on his way, and a pout formed on her lips. She glanced over at Niles to gauge his reaction and found that there was an amused little twitchy thing happening at the corners of his lips. "You'll never get away with this, Miss Babcock."
"Think you can stop me?" she asked brightly, a living spark kindling in her eyes. "You know this means war, Niles." Now this was fun. The challenge only made the hunt better.
"War," he said, meeting her eyes boldly.
Maxwell came back in and stopped when he found them still talking by the fireplace. "C.C., I have a meeting at the Regency Hotel at one, and I could use you there. Can you come?"
C.C. shot Niles a look. "I always do," she replied with a little smile. Niles rolled his eyes at her.
Go on to Part Three!
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