Meanwhile, Mr. Spielberg impassively handed her a pen and showed her where to sign. -"So Mrs. Fine, why did you decide to sign those rights over to me? Wasn’t your son-in-law interested?"

-"Aw, he’s not in the film industry, you know. He’s about to get into television, God bless him, but movies, don’t ask."

-"Still, as the owner of the rights he could make big money."

-"You’ve paid me enough already. That’s all I care. Meanwhile, let’s keep Max out of the loop, okay?"

-"Well, you are family, not me."

-"Yeah-yeah, as if I cared!"

Both chortled... That turned into a huge laugh... The patrons around started laughing with them... So did the waiters…

-"No, mother. No! NOOO!"

-"Wha-t? WHAT?!" Fran jumped on the bed.

Maxwell’s eyes were the size of plates; he was drenched in sweat and his breathing was shallow.

-"What is it, Honey?" Fran asked worried.

-"I’m sorry, Sweetheart. You can continue to watch your show, I just… I just had a bad dream, that’s all."

-"Bad dream? You screamed so loud that the good ole’ Fred Krueger there almost soiled his pants."

-"Oh, not "A Nightmare On Elm Street" again Fran?"

-"You have your nightmares I have mine. In my state I can only watch the cut version. They’re showing it on USA."

-"Okay, enjoy yourself." He shook his head. -"The way you watch horror movies I wouldn’t be surprised if you named our twins Carrie and Jason."

-"Ohhh…" Fran put the TV on mute. -"Frank Bradley was pestering you again with bad reviews?"

-"Fra-nk?" He frowned. -"What the devil are you talking about? This has nothing to do with that idiot!"

-"What then, Sweets?"

-"Worse, much worse!"

-"Don’t tell me Alan Beck finally found a way to set you on fir’a?"

-"No darling, no! Your mother!"

-"My mo-…? You cheating on me with my motha’? Is she a regular bag of Matchlight or what?" Under her breath. -"Oy, you British people have some weird fantasies, I tell ya…"

-"Are you out of your bloody mind?"

Fran realized she was getting it all wrong. -"Honey, I’m all fahrblunget here. What dream was that after all? It wasn’t with Frank Bradley, it wasn’t Alan Beck, and it wasn’t Ma’."

-"Yes it was!"

-"It was?"

-"NOO!" Pensive. -"At least not the way you implied there." His eyes vague. -"Besides British law prohibits a man from marrying his mother-in-law." Max mumbled under his breath.

-"Really?" Fran asked not getting a word.

-"Yes ma‘am." He answered positively.

-"Well, nobody said anything about getting married but I can’t think of any better example of useless legislation." She added conclusive.

-"Fran, I’m serious."

-"Well, if you’re serious you better beware. Max, you’re beginning to sound just like me."

-"I know; and the nightmare continues…"

-"Say what?"

Regretting it. -"Never mind, Darling. My point is, your mother did something much worse than making a pass at me."

-"What did she do?"

-"She signed the rights to a possible movie over to Steven Spielberg."

-"Steven ET - Color Purple - Schindler’s List - 1941 - Raiders of the Lost Ark - Empire Of The Sun - Close Encounters Of The Third Kind - Jurassic Park - just to name a handful; Spielberg?!"

-"What’s your guess?"

-"Oy, that can’t be good."

-"Trust me, it was not." He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

Getting real again. -"Ohhh Honey, I wouldn’t worry too much. It was just a bad dream?" Brushing his hair away from his temples with her fingers.

-"Oh really? Whatever happened to all those meshugah stories of your mishpachah appearing to you in dreams." He realized the use of words. -"Oh God I am beginning to sound like you."

-"Ohhh, you are so cute when you speak Yiddish. Meanwhile, if you are so flabbergasted, dumbfounded, and perplexed with this whole allegory…" She mimicked a fake British tone in return. …-"We can drive to my parents tomorrow and see that she signs the rights to the movie to ya’." She poked his chest candidly.

-"I wonder what place she’s going to choose next, Cancun, Patagonia, Jerusalem?"

-"Nah, a week in Boca and you’re back in business."

-"I hope so." He said dropping his head on his pillow again. After thinking for a second he darted with a smile. -"Frank Bradley…Can you picture that man making love to his wife? The morning after he leaves a note pinned to the pillow: "A memorable evening, Frank Bradley"."

Fran smiled then teased whispering in his ear. -"Can you picture Maxwell Sheffield making love to his wife?"

-"Not for a minute." He narrowed his eyes trying to focus.

-"Oh yeah?" She slapped his chest lightly.

-"Yes. Unless you’re able to stimulate my imagination."

-"Oh…" She wondered shortly. -"Good night, Fred." She turned off the TV as he kissed her passionately.

-"Fran?" He broke the kiss for a split second.

-"Who is Fran? Who are you? Where is Waldo?" She questioned dizzily between his lips.

-"Never mind, come here." He kissed her deeply again.

In a different room, another couple had just gone to bed after a shower to cool off their share of each other that night; they were laughing at the memory.

-"You’re definitely a naughty Brit, Niles." C.C. said after flopping on the bed and wiggling half atop him.

He pouted. -"Well, you wrongfully appropriated private property by a breach of trust. Next time don’t do that; those are my favorite pajamas."

-"Well, my dear honorable "barrister," if you washed that T-shirt that you gave me from time to time I wouldn’t have to purloin any of your private property." She mocked his tone. -"Dressing in your favorite pajamas shirt was my way to give you a hint."

-"That was your way to defy me; you bloody love to do that." He growled curtly.

She giggled.

-"I wash your T-shirt-slash-camisole every other day." Beat. -"Besides, I don’t know why I do that, you seldom use anything, anyway." He checked her out.

She threateningly narrowed her eyes at his naked figure. -"Says who? Look at you! What do you need your Pjs for; anyway?"

-"Typical. I should remember I was dealing with the nymphomaniac who usually seduces me in the most inappropriate places: pools, kitchens, stairways… Did I miss anything?"

-"Closets!" Both in unison recalled a few minutes earlier and broke into laughter.

-"Yeah, right." C.C. darted recovering. -"I seduce you? You know I can’t stand you always teasing me that way."

-"I wasn’t, you were. And I do not "always" tease you. Sometimes I’m just standing there; quiet as a priest."

-"That’s it, you are there! That’s more than enough. Your looks, your voice, your smell." She fanned herself. -"See how you affect me?"

-"You have the same effect on me, sister." He muttered.

-"I do?"

-"You know you do." He half grinned at the memory. -"Thank God the family was in Europe that weekend." Meaning over a month earlier when the family met in London after Sylvia signed - in France - the rights of Yetta’s letters over to Max.

-"We were a little wild that night, weren’t we?" She purred.

-"A little?" He guffawed curtly. -"I was considering bringing that kitchen down and having the place refurbished instead of cleaned. It would be easier, you know."

-"Oh, come on, it wasn’t so bad. Besides, I helped you."

-"Gee, I should have used my camera! Tabloids would pay me five grand a snap of C.C.-inderella Babcock down on her knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor. What a scoop!"

-"Over my dead body! And I shouldn’t, you know, you were the messy one, not me!"

-"I wa-…Hello! Who dropped that bottle of maraschino cherries causing that mess?"

-"I was just popping one into my mouth. Whose testosterone couldn’t wait and made me drop the thing?"

-"Mine." He granted with a smirk.

-"Precisely. And use your memory, Mr. Arm & Hammer, it wasn’t just the cherries. There was sweat and-and all sorts of-of-of…fluids all over the place." She mumbled in disgust.

Niles grimaced. -"Eew."

-"Yeah, eew is right." She throaty laughed at the thought.

He was pensive for a second.

-"What?"

-"What do you like best the "arms" or the "hammer"?"

-"Niles, you porno-head."

He smiled curtly. -"Love to hate you, babe."

She held him more snuggly. -"Now changing the subject."

-"Mm?" He questioned holding her back.

-"Aren’t you proud of Babcock & Sheffield Productions?"

-"You mean, Sheffield & Babcock Productions?"

-"Oh, do you have to be so technical?" She snarled feebly.

He chuckled.

-"We really hit big this time!" She sighed happily.

-"You certainly did." He kissed her head. -"And I’m proud of you." He looked at her tenderly. -"I’m always proud of you." Pensively. -"Except when you deliver too much attention to other guys."

-"What "other guys"?"

-"I don’t like the way that man who plays the role of Yetta’s husband looks at you?"

-"Martin? "The Simple Furrier"?"

-"Elmer; "The Simple Furrier"?"

She frowned not getting it.

-"He’s giving you the goo-goo eyes and I don’t like that."

C.C. frowned. -"Jeepers, Niles, Elmer Glucksman is a freaking pain."

-"Oh, really? Who chose him for the part?"

-"He’s the understudy; and you know I did."

-"Now, dare I ask you why?" He made a face.

-"The only reason we hired him is because he’s the director’s brother and Maxwell wanted to be in his good books; big deal."

Niles shrugged indifferently.

-"If you don’t care, why did you raise the subject then?" She shook him.

He shrugged again. -"Hm.."

-"Cry baby."

-"Is he a good actor?"

-"Good enough." She said uninterested.

He was silent for a second then darted. -"Can he bake a cheese cake?"

She laughed out loud. -"Oh G-d, I deserve this."

Like magic he made a small daisy appear from her ear. -"Can he do this?"

She grinned widely. -"No!!" In surprised shock. -"How did you do that?"

He proudly gave the flower to her. -"Professional secret."

-"That is soooo….! Come on, how?" She nudged him.

-"My lips are sealed."

She smelled at it then melted half atop of him again. -"That is so sweet."

He smiled.

They went silent for about a minute.

-"Niles, you told me about your lady friend from Maine. What’s her name again? Lu-Lou…?"

-"Lucy."

-"Yes, Lucy. But how did she help you to get your life back on track again after all?" She played with her flower. -"What did she say to you that made the difference; that you didn’t tell me?"

He sighed and thought for a second. -"She taught me to focus on what I can control instead of what I can’t."

-"I don’t think I follow you."

-"In other words, she taught me to change what I can, accept what I can’t and laugh at the rest."

-"But you somehow already did that."

-"I beg your pardon?"

-"Yes, you above all people I know always seem to have a sense of humor about your bad-hair days."

-"Well…" Pensive. -"The thing is, having a sense of humor about my troubles has always had a calming effect on me."

-"So why did you blow that night?"

-"The night that Eric died, you mean?"

-"Yes?"

-"Well, because that brought back memories that I fought years to forget. You see, there had always been a sanctuary within me to which I could retreat anytime the pain was too much." He thought a second longer.

-"Oh, I envy you."

-"Yes, but for the first time I felt that sanctuary in ruins."

-"So that’s what was broken inside you?"

-"Somehow; yes." He shook his head as if trying to erase the thought. -"My sanctuary helped me through the years. But after Eric’s death under the same circumstances of my sister’s, I snapped. I felt so angry, very very angry. That somehow frightened me. I was-…" He stopped short in the middle of the sentence.

She wetted her dry lips. -"…You were?"

He sighed. -"I was afraid I could hurt you. Not-not physically, of course not, it’s not what I mean - but with words. I didn’t want that to happen."

She smiled. -"You always hurt me with words, Niles."

-"No. I always teased you with words. That’s different."

She giggled and nodded.

-"But this time it was as if I weren’t myself. I had something locked up inside that suddenly surfaced; triggered by Eric’s death. And it surfaced very slimy, dark, and gave forth a strong, offensive smell…like Beelzebub’s blood. I could hurt pretty much anybody around me, you, Mister Sheffield, the kids, even Fran...anybody who would push a little too far."

-"You were always a short fuse, Niles."

-"I know I can be tough sometimes, my Love. But-…I guess you wouldn’t understand. Anyway, I needed some space to get bitter or get better. I spent over 30 years of my life not being able to see the obvious. You were the first person to help me to see that; by the way. It was as if I could finally have that three-dimensional view. All I had to do was to step back and focus again. There! Crystal clear."

-"But if I was the one starting everything; I mean, to help you to think more clearly…Why didn’t you take me along on this trip?"

-"Because, first of all, I would be always thinking of us. Second, well, like I said, I was afraid I could hurt anyone. I had to be away. I needed to step back - and this time - only focus on my wounds."

-"And that’s where Lucy gets into the picture?"

-"Yes, that’s where she gets into the picture." He smiled. -"You would love to meet her; them as a matter of fact."

-"I was so alone when you were gone."

-"I missed you too." He stroked her hair. -"But it was necessary, my love."

-"I guess." She mumbled.

-"But you know…"

-"What?" She whispered.

-"Solitude is not always synonymous with loneliness."

-"I guess not." She ran her daisy against his chest. -"But I thought you had dumped me."

He chuckled. -"Nonsense."

Another silent moment followed.

She smiled. -"I read your play today." The Blonde said, hypnotized by the flower.

-"You did what?? Aw…" He closed his eyes. -"It’s a load of crap, you can say it."

-"No way! I thought it was brilliant." She looked up at him.

His face skeptical. -"Oh, go on!"

She chuckled. -"I mean it!"

Niles’ expression perked up.

-"I wonder if I have this feeling just because I’m so enraptured by your charm." She said in a theatrical tone then gently pinched his chin.

-"What feeling?" He lowered his tone with great misgivings.

-"This feeling that-…" She stopped mid-sentence. -"Niles, is there anything you can’t do well in this world?"

-"Hmm…" He pouted then smiled realizing she was serious about the praising. -"Let’s see…Brain surgery, piloting space-shuttles…"

-"Being more humble."

-"…or loving you less." He brushed his lips on hers.

-"See? Then who seduces who?" She smiled. Beat. -"G-d I love this part, listen."

-"It’s certainly a beautiful score." He watched her face then kissed her longingly completely taken by the melody.

She moaned. -"Just so we are in sync, this is the song Javert sings about Jean Valjean. You know that, don’t you?"

-"I know that." He grinned. -"Could the two of us have a better soundtrack?"

She joined his smiled and kissed him again.

She brushed her nose on his. -"Don’t ever tell this to Max but "Les Misérables" became one of my all time favorites."

To himself. -"Gee, I wonder why?"

Ignoring. -"I had bought this complete symphonic recording and I forgot that Maxwell had borrowed it from me."

-"Where did you find it?"

-"In the limo."

Curtly. -"Good." Pensive. -"Now where were we?"

She smirked knowing exactly what he expected to hear. -"Niles, you are a regular multiprocessor, you know that?"

-"What’you mean?"

-"The play you just wrote! Everything, I mean. You are amazing! You alone take care of a house that needs at least three people to do the task. You are good at sports, you speak other languages, you sing like a bird. Wait up! There is more!" Infomercial-like.

He chuckled.

-"Ladies and gentlemen, the man produces junk material that turns into good stuff, and watch out because now he’s writing!!"

Aroused by her enthusiasm. -"How about my lovemaking?"

-"Aw, there goes his fat, huge ego again!" She wiggled upon him once more. -"I’m here, aren’t I?" She teased in a sexy tone.

He moaned instinctively.

-"Now, do you really want to know my opinion about our lovemaking or to hear more about your writing?"

-"Against every fiber of my frame; about my writing."

Beat. -"How discourteous."

He chortled -"Woman, I told you already; I’m your servant. If that statement alone doesn’t mean a thing about the way I care about you, I don’t know how the hell I should please you then. Besides, I don’t want to hear your opinion, but perceive the way you feel." He played in a fake sexy tone.

-"Oh, you are good." She smiled and blushed. -"Smooth answer, I must admit."

-"Well, I am smooth." Beat. -"Now, come on! How’s the writing?"

-"Calm down."

-"C.C., you are doing it."

-"Doing what?"

-"Bloody torturing me. Come on, tell me!"

-"The play is so good! It’s great the way you are able to express that wit in written words, it’s not easy you know."

-"I loved composition when I was in school; had two great teachers."

-"Hurray to that."

-"It’s good to hear that, you seldom praise the things I do."

-"You are so unfair. I just described you as the most perfect multiprocessor a woman can desire."

He smiled ashamedly. -"I guess you’re right. You’ve been praising me a lot lately; and all I do is complain."

-"Anyway, I want to read more of your things. What about those Seinfeld episodes that Nanny Fine told me you wrote?"

-"She told you that?"

-"Yes."

-"That blabbermouth! Anyway, those aren’t episodes they are fanfiction."

-"Fanfiction?"

-"Yes. It’s like having fun writing about something you like."

-"Oh, we used to do that in high school. I remember that for homework I wrote one where the Jetsons and the Flintstones get caught in a time-warp and end up in the other family’s era."

He smiled. -"Good one."

-"Got an A."

-"Flintstones and Jetsons, huh? I thought you were more the "Addams Family" type of girl."

-"Niiles."

He chuckled.

-"No, but I was crazy about "The Munsters"."

-"See?"

-"I loved Fred Gwynne since "Car 54, Where are You?." I couldn’t understand much but I thought Toody and Muldoon were so funny."

-"I rarely had time for television those days. Besides, the sixties could be pretty wild for a lad. The fifties, just like in America, were a time where father knew best and there was a sitcom to prove it. But London in the sixties was a completely different can of worms, I tell you. I was never home in my time off."

-"I can well believe. But I guess after Kennedy’s assassination America was never the same either."

He nodded pensively. -"Crazy times all over the world those sixties."

-"Yes." She muttered.

He frowned. -"But you were, what, five, six at the time? How can you remember those things?"

-"The shows, you mean?"

-"Yes."

-"Well it was last televised around sixty-three. But all I remember is that I liked them."

Niles smiled in disbelief.

-"I was only a child, Niles." Defensively. -"A lonely child. My favorite pastime was spending hours and hours in front of a tube while my brother and sister would fight over anything." She went silent at the memory.

-"Hey!" He snapped his fingers.

She came back with a smile. -"Anyway, then I fell in love with "The Munsters." She said conclusively.

-"Oo, Yvonne DeCarlo was a babe!"

-"What about Beverly and Pat?"

-"Who were they?"

-"Who were they?"

Annoyed. -"C.C., I only watched the show a couple of times. Yvonne DeCarlo was a star, but who the heck were Beverly and Pat?"

-"Marilyn one and two?"

-"Ohhh, the daughter…"

Fan-like. -"Niece!"

-"Yes, niece." He rolled his eyes. -"You begin to sound like Fran."

-"Don’t you dare! After I grew up I did something more than watching TV."

-"Anyway, answering your question, the girls were cute; Lily was hot."

-"It’s a fact; the man is a freak."

-"Course I am. Had to be to fall in love with Marilyn number three."

-"In that case, don’t you mean Lily number two?"

-"Touché." He admitted with a huge grin.

She made a lunge as if piercing him with a sword. -"So, the Seinfeld material was "fanfiction" stuff; it sounds so much fun."

-"Master Brighton told me how fanfictions spread over the Internet. He was the one who introduced me to some of the most popular sites."

-"Oh, that boy and the Internet. It brings me back memories…"

Niles chuckled.

-"…And they are not good."

Interrupting. -"I wonder how that ever happened."

-"Oh, I figured it out later."

-"You did?"

-"Yes. Didn’t I tell you?"

-"Er, no?"

-"One night Maxwell sent me a list of some of his Broadway buddies from his AOL IM - people who we use to trade information like contracts or drafts of scores with; collaborators in general."

Conclusive. -"Brighton’s screen name came with the bunch."

-"You got it."

He shook his head. -"Tsk-tsk-tsk…"

-"Obviously I had no idea that that was the kid’s screen name. Inadvertently the first time he showed up online, I clicked on his name and started a perfectly innocent conversation using the musicals as a common point. He knew a few things about Broadway…"

-"Well, duh…"

-"Yes, but he seemed more interested in playing his little game than talking work. I guess the screen name "GoodandPlenty" said more things in a pop than I could say in a thousand words."

He nodded with a naughty expression.

-"Anyway, we "talked" for about an hour that night and the rest is history. I’m glad we found out the next morning. Moving on…"

-"C.C., I mock you but this could have gotten really serious, you know that?"

-"Niles, I’m not retarded. That’s why I don’t like to talk about it. Besides, nothing serious happened, so let’s forget about it, okay? Just the thought of it makes me sick."

He chuckled. -"I hope you’ve been logging on under a different name when it comes to business."

-"When it comes to anything; I changed my screen name."

-"Mm, what to "GooandEasy"?"

-"Beast."

-"Trollop."

Whining. -"Stop."

-"All right." He squeezed her. -"Anyhow, where were we?"

-"I bet some of these folks are really good." She mumbled.

-"I beg your pardon?"

-"The fanfiction writers."

-"Oh goody, yes they are. Some of these folks could even be absorbed by the industry, C.C.."

-"I wager that." Pensively. "Especially in comedy. You can learn how to write in school but it’s very rare those who learn how to be funny."

-"I guess."

-"If it weren’t for the paranoia of show biz and their "long-standing company policies" not allowing their people to even consider creative ideas."

-"Well, that’s to avoid the possibility of misunderstandings, you know, when projects developed by their staff might seem to be similar to the creative work submitted by people out there." He sighed loudly.

-"I know, but it is a shame. I’m sure some of these stories would be a breath of fresh air for their "parent" shows."

-"I never took television very seriously, but it’s becoming hard to watch the cookie cutter lately. I guess they could use some new blood."

-"Oh Niles, it’s so sad. The gray suits got stuck in time. Cloning became the word. You see Judge "this", Judge "that." Ricky "this," Springer "that." They are all the same. It’s just like Samuel Goldwyn from MGM used to say: ‘Bring me some brand new clichés!’" She said it with a raucous voice.

He smirked.

-"To make matters worse, it’s well known that in a few years the Internet will be a more powerful medium in this world than television. There will be dozens of shows that will never make a penny in the U.S. and will make millions overseas. It’s just that the entertainment industry doesn’t risk anymore. They don’t want to hear what people have to say and they have the nerve to complain that they have no idea why their audiences are eroding."

-"It’s easier said than done."

-"True." She nodded. -"Here in our company, for instance. You came to me and told me that you had a hit on your hands. What did I do?"

-"You laughed." Deadpan.

-"Yes, I admit that and I’m still regretting it."

Niles shrugged in a "told-you-so" way.

-"Then Fran offered her grandmother’s letters to Max and what did he say?"

-"He said, no."

-"And we only found it was a great idea when Andrew Lloyd Webber made a move first."

-"Oomph…"

-"That’s what I mean. Max and I were the "gray suits" and Webber the exception. He still takes risks. The big guys in the industry have their eyes so glued to their own navels that they don’t seem to see one inch before their noses anymore. I came to a conclusion: Who knows what is best for the viewers than…?"

-"The viewers."

-"Exactly."

-"MmHm."

-"Well, I’m not saying that the Internet will be the end of TV. But it will certainly change the way the stations will deal with viewers and vice versa. It will alter the whole concept of entertainment, by the way."

-"Perhaps."

-"You bet." She thought for a second. -"For example; you, I’m sure you could kick some of these writers’ rears."

-"You think?"

-"It’s not that you are necessarily better than they are. But you are incredibly witty and you come from a totally different background. If you add to that the fact that…Can I call you a Seinfeld fan?"

-"Sure, why not?"

-"Okay, in Seinfeld’s particular case, I bet you are more familiar with the show than most of their writers were. Of course the writers know their craft and the characters, but sometimes these professionals have become so overwhelmed with the speed of their work that they don’t have the chance to follow the show as a fan would."

-"Oh, I see what you are getting at. Continuity; the little details you mean."

-"That’s what I mean. Only a fan notices those things. For you to be able to produce as many episodes as the industry requires, you have to have lots of writers. They can’t be together brainstorming all the time and sometimes mistakes are bound to happen."

-"Oh, they do happen."

-"Not to mention that the stories are so weak sometimes; so farfetched."

-"Well, it’s tough work."

-"I know. But that’s a reason why production companies can’t force writers to be creative all the time."

He smiled at himself. -"What would happen if they had a bunch of smart guys like myself to back them up with fresh ideas?"

-"Sooner or later they would realize that they had won the jackpot! After all, in the middle of these amateur stories, there would always be some diamonds in the rough that would help to carry their shows for ages! Am I right or am I right?"

He nodded.

-"If anybody could come and buy the rights of my 21-year-old love story with a dazzling butler…" She smiled and gave him a peck on the lips.

-"Oh baby, I want my share!"

-"…let’s just say to turn it into a movie."

-"A horror flick, I presume."

-"Based on what we just went through in this very room tonight, I would put it into a different category."

He chuckled.

-"Anyway, my point is, if you can buy any story out in the streets; why not approach these people with an offer?"

-"And that would imply very few changes, legally speaking."

-"Bingo! Make it simple. E-mail anyone, make an offer and cut a deal! Buy some plots and keep them in a drawer. When some of their guys have a lack of creativity, boom; just drop some of that stuff in their laps."

-"How about the unions?"

-"Oh, they would throw a fit here and there until they found out that it would actually help their people. At times like this, when a show remains on the air for more than a couple of years, it is a blessing already."

-"Well, but that was not the reason why Seinfeld ended, you know."

-"I know, sometimes industry squeezes people so much that they get tired of working on the same thing without room for other projects. But that’s the exception not the rule."

-"I agree."

-"Unions? Guilds?" She sneered. -"What do they know, really? If you can keep a show running longer because it is creative and fresh that will ultimately give writers more and more to work with and obviously an even longer-term job. Besides, I believe that in a bunch of years, shows sold on DVD will be huge. So, who cares where those stories come from?! Besides, if you give room for that kind of interactivity, you’ll have viewers talking about your show forever!"

-"I see."

-"If they continue with that arrogant attitude, sooner or later, all we will see on TV will be those insipid, unscripted shows."

-"Dear me, I hate those things."

-"Me too. Anyway, make sure that you hear me well, Niles. I’m not saying here that the writers of these shows have to become slaves to these amateur plots. But business is business. You can keep yourself loyal to your work and still become strongly commercial. That keeps you in tune with your viewers. I don’t know how this fanfiction is doing over the Net, but I bet it hasn’t changed much from the plots that I wrote as a fan. I’m sure some of these stories would fit perfectly into the shows that generated them."

-"Well, I got some nice compliments in my web mail when the Seinfeld stories were posted."

-"And I’m dying to read them. Are they still up?"

-"I guess so. I could give you the electronic address; addresses actually. I wrote two comedies; the "Seinfeld" ones and one from my favorite genre; crime stories."

-"What show?"

-"Err..For "Murder, She Wrote"."

-"Oo, how fun."

-"I wrote it originally as a play, but Fran made such a fuzz at the time that I decided to turn it into another of Mrs. Fletcher’s cases."

-"Aw, I remember that. She became so paranoiac!"

-"Yeah, "laugh it up, fuzz-ball"."

-"What was it again, "Secure Alibi"?"

-"You remember?"

-"Of course I do. But I didn’t get to read it. Anyway, I’ll sure hit those pages later."

-"Remind me to give you the URLs."

-"And why haven’t you written more?"

-"Aw, a bunch of reasons. Just to start with, I don’t have a computer."

-"I know."

-"The stories I wrote I did on a typewriter, can you believe it?"

-"Holy Gutenberg, Niles."

-"Master Brighton scanned them so I could have them sent to the pages; it’s hard to go back to "woodblock printing" after you used word processing."

-"Aw…" Mother-like. -"We’ll certainly have to fix that."

-"How?" Suspiciously implying that he may not accept any expensive gifts of that sort.

-"Never mind. We’ll see about that later." She said it planning to surprise him in the future regardless of what he thought. -"Now, about your play."

-"What about it?"

-"I don’t think we would have time to mount it right now, but I would love to prove how wrong Maxwell was by rejecting your material. It is sooo good."

-"Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he rejected "good stuff"."

-"Tell me about it." She mumbled thinking of "Cats," "Tommy," and all the others from a list.

-"That’s nice of you." He played with her hair.

-"What?"

-"Dedicating some time to read and appreciate what I write."

-"Oh, I loved it. Listen, I think we could gather some folks from our show and we could put together at least a sketch or a musical number. How about the part you wrote lyrics for?"

-"I don’t have a music score."

-"Oh, piece of cake. Our pianist is a good old friend of ours."

-"Leonard?"

-"Yes."

-"Nice man."

-"Yes. He owes me some money and he can create a score for that in a second. I bet he will trade. Are you game?"

-"C.C., I don’t want any money from you."

-"That is not money, it is a favor that could become fruitful for Max and I as well. Besides, Leonard might not even charge for this. He’s very passionate about new talents. Now, are you game or not?"

-"Am I?" Dreamily. Beat. -"Do you have any idea who you can pick for the role of the butler?"

She raised her head at him and smirked.

-"Aw, might as well close the play now."

-"Why not?" She asked excited.

-"You saw the time I attempted to sing in that-…"

-"Niles!" She ran over him. -"That material was horrible!"

-"Yes but you were very eager to tell me I was a flop."

-"Well, with all the help we got from the "Three Stooges," Mandy Patinkin would be a flop! Besides, you were driving me crazy with all those demands that week. I was glad to step over your head and be thankful I wasn’t wearing heels."

-"The backers seemed to enjoy the whole vaudeville backstage."

-"Because they realized right away that the play would be a flop and the ones who actually threw money at us were sure looking for some tax relief?"

-"Mm…" He pouted. -"I don't know."

-"Believe me, you sing like a bird."

-"Like a crow."

She rolled her eyes.

-"I couldn’t get over Miss Grace’s play yet."

-"Your fault. You were the one who said you did all that on purpose to make me feel bad."

-"Well, I regretted it already."

-"Well, that won’t change things any. Most people, including Maxwell, think you laid a monster egg. Who’s sorry now?" She laughed. -"You were so pathetic."

-"Every actor has the director he deserves."

-"Excuse me for trying to help!"

-"Don’t throw guilt on me, C.C.. I was coming down the hallway with those plastic bags in my hands and you saw it as a magnificent opportunity to humiliate me; that’s why you cast me in that play."

-"That’s absurd, Niles. I was in big trouble because the guy who was going to play the messenger was grounded for cheating. Besides, if you felt that way, why the freaking hell did you accept to be in that play?"

-"Because there was an idiotic part of me that just wanted a chance to spend more time with you!"

-"Well, believe you or not that was exactly what I had in mind when I convinced Maxwell to let you go for a few hours that week." She was huffing and puffing.

Deadpan. -"C.C., for three long days you called me names and pestered me; I was about to quit."

-"I know." She finally lowered her tone recognizing she really did that. -"But those teens were driving me crazy! I was giving them acting tips and they were discussing how to use Caesar’s war strategies to play Quake!"

He chuckled.

She sighed deeply while thinking for a second. -"Lie!"

-"Hm?"

-"I’m lying. I started mistreating you when I realized that I couldn’t control them but you could. They could care less what I was saying, but the minute you called their names and told them to pay attention to me they were all like white sheep; that drove me so mad."

-"Why?"

Whining. -"Why can’t I communicate with kids, Niles?"

-"Why can’t you communicate, period?"

She pouted.

-"You can’t treat teenagers, specially spoiled ones, like you treat people who actually work for you. These children barely fear their parents let alone a drama school director. Besides, kids love to learn new things C.C., but they hate to be taught – or forced to learn. Get me?"

She nodded.

-"And why didn’t you say so, you deceitful piece of irresistible pain in the arse? It would have saved us a lot of distress."

-"Well…" She said it just like Lucy Ricardo when she couldn’t find a plausible "esplanation."

-"All that stupid charade was to put you in your place after all the humiliation you put me through. Niles not knowing how to act equals who cares? But Babcock flopping as a school play director equals headlines!"

Relieved. -"Aw, if it hadn’t been for the long holiday weekend that school would have been packed and my ass would have been grass." Under her breath. -"And so would yours, Rochester."

-"Well, don’t think I didn’t have my share. Mr. Sheffield laughed at me for about a week. And all those flyers coming out with horrible reviews." He shook his head. -"Who’s kidding who, those actually infuriated me. The brat, critic-wanna-be barely knew how to spell; the son of a gun!"

-"Oh, the little bastard trashed everyone; it wasn’t just you."

He growled.

-"I’ll tell you this much, Niles, if that was really an act then you deserved a Tony."

-"Nobody would believe me."

-"See on the bright side, what about the boy who played Caesar?"

He guffawed.

-"I mean, your role was quite small but a Caesar whose voice enters puberty right on stage! What was that?"

-"Poor boy. He was probably so nervous that his hormones went crazy."

-"One moment his voice was like Stallone’s next you know he starts talking like Miss Dipesto!" She chuckled. -"Aw, that play was all wrong!"

-"Why did you ever direct that, anyway?"

-"I told Grace it was because of her father, you know." She smiled.

-"Yes, I know, I know."

-"The truth is…" She thought for a second. -"Well, it was because of her father."

-"What?" Affronted.

She giggled.

-"I don’t want to hear." He said impatiently.

-"Don’t be silly! I implied that but the truth was, it was charity season. I didn’t want to go to a couple of dinners and I begged Maxwell to go in my place. He said he would like to but he couldn’t go because he would be directing the little one and her friends for an entire week. I then suggested that we could trade places. Knowing how Fran was feeling neglected lately he accepted. She would love to go to those dinners and they would have time to spend together. Besides, Max has no patience to direct kids."

-"And you do?" He frowned.

-"Let’s just say that I hate benefit dinners more than I hate that. Besides, I would have to find a man to escort me and you know what that means."

-"If it was for charity, I could do my share by taking you."

-"Shut up, Niles. That was exactly what I wanted to avoid. Having to ask you? Ha! Facing the kids didn’t sound as bad at the time."

-"And why did you have to imply that you were doing it because you thought you had a chance with Mr. Sheffield?"

-"Du-h? The girl hates me! If I had told her that Max and I had traded places because I asked him to, she would have run to him and asked him not to."

-"She doesn’t hate you."

-"Yeah, right. Let’s just say then that she doesn’t love me. Anyway, I just wish I had never done that play!"

Fastidiously. -"And why are you being nice to me now, just because we’re going to bed together?"

She raised her head from his chest. -"No Niles, I’m being nice to you because I love you. And even though you don’t deserve it - you lame excuse for an artist - I have to admit that I’m also doing it because you are talented! Not only as a singer and somehow as a producer, but now I also come to realize that as a writer."

He watched her in silence.

-"That’s it, tomorrow we will start rehearsing a small number with Leonard. As I said, it’s impossible for us to put a whole play or act together now that we’ll be moving to California. But at least Max will know what a great opportunity he’s missing."

He sighed. -"Okay, you’re the boss."

-"Repeat that." She smiled at him.

-"Repeat what?"

-"I’m not gonna get it, am I?"

-"Get what?" He smirked.

-"Okay, I heard it well the first time. That made my day already."

-"Anyway, you may be right." He stroked her back.

-"About?"

-"I could have become the new John Raitt and made myself millions as a Broadway singer. But there were people doing the impossible to kick me out of showbiz." He jested in a melodramatic way.

-"Who, the public?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. -"You know, it’s really hard to trust you when you have mood swings like this."

-"I’m kidding, you fool. I just said how good you are."

He arched his eyebrow. -"I’m getting tired of this." He was kidding but sounded too serious; she didn’t get it.

-"Okay then, sleep well." She got rid of his arms and turned over to the other side.

-"I was teasing you. Now, get back here." He poked her gently.

-"No, I have a headache."

-"It’s from tension. You want to relax? I can relieve that tension?" He played in a low baritone voice knowing that he always got good responses with that.

-"I tell you, with you, until the very last moment, it’s never relaxing." She answered without turning.

-"Is that a compliment or a criticism?"

-"Let’s just say that I hope that never changes." She smiled to herself. -"But I’m not in the mood now, sorry."

-"You are not?" He asked with a funny voice.

-"No, now go to sleep." She darted in a pettish tone.

-"May I at least give you a goodnight kiss?" He propped himself on his elbow.

-"If you want to."

He nestled against her giving a tender kiss on her cheek. -"Good night." He said waiting for her reaction.

She shivered lightly but didn’t move or say a word.

Smoothing back some tendrils he kissed the tip of her ear. -"Good night?" He whispered.

She closed her eyes trying to suppress her attraction for him.

He lifted the hair from her nape and brushed his lips there -"Good night?"

She let out a tormented groan and rolled over clasping his head between her hands. -"Niles, you play dirty." Then she kissed him lingeringly; a long minute followed, where their tongues savored each other’s mouths. -"How can I say I’m not in the mood when you just know how to burn my body into ashes." She said when they broke for air. -"But seriously, Lover, I’m coming down with a horrible migraine."

-"No fooling?"

-"Nope." She grimaced lightly.

-"Do you want a pain reliever?"

She grinned.

-"Not that; an analgesic, I mean."

-"Do you have any?"

-"Course I do. Just a minute."

She took the pill and a minute later he came out of the bathroom where he left her glass with an inch of water.

-"I couldn’t go for a second round tonight but could we cuddle?" She said sitting on the bed with her arms opened wide.

-"If you promise to behave." He said putting fresh pajama pants on.

-"Come here, you. And please, leave that shirt right where it is."

He dropped the shirt inside the drawer. -"That’s a bad start, Babcock."

She patted her hand on his side of the bed.

He arched his eyebrow, walked slowly to the bed and lay beside her.

She was staring at him.

-"Now what?" He asked suspiciously.

She roamed her hands over his chest in a sensuous way. -"I just want to feel you." She said kissing his thorax slowly.

-"Woman, if you really want me to respect your headache you better be careful." He played holding her tenderly after he turned off his lamp.

-"Niles."

-"Hm?"

-"Don’t you still feel odd about us sleeping together like this?" She held him more tightly.

-"Yes, but I’m really getting used to it." He kissed her head.

-"Me too." She kissed his chest again. -"Me too." Once again the idea of them getting officially married crossed her mind. But it still sounded precipitated. It all seemed just perfect the way it was. Closing her eyes she whispered. -"Night lover..."

The Butler smiled in the dark. -"Good night my love."

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