Disclaimer: All characters belong to Fran Drescher et. al, owners of The Nanny. I'm just a twisted individual out to have a little fun with the characters of my fave show.
by
Aimee
(aimeed@earthlink.net)
I thought I'd never be prouder than on the day that Fran Fine glided down the aisle looking every inch the princess, to be joined in marriage to my employer, Broadway producer Maxwell Sheffield. But I was wrong. Over the next year of my life, things happened that culminated in the happiest, proudest, craziest day of my thirty-some years of life. Well, thirty if you do math the way Mrs. Sheffield does. It's one of the many things I've come to appreciate about her.
But back to my story. A year to the day later, that selfsame Cinderella blew out the one candle on her first anniversary cake, cradling her pregnant stomach as she did so. Her husband helped her blow the candle out, and as we all burst into spontaneous applause, he looked at her with such open love that everyone in the room could feel it creep into their hearts.
But if I could feel the residual shadow of their love, it was nothing compared to the way I felt for the woman at my side, the dream I never dared to hope would come true, the woman it took me almost twenty years to win. C.C. Babcock, the ultimate ice princess, whose love, once unleashed, ran hot and fierce and completed me in ways I never knew I was lacking.
Even after weeks of secret liaisons and passionate interludes that outdid any men's magazine Brighton ever hid in a textbook, I sometimes wondered how I ever dared to touch her. She was so incomparably beautiful, so fiery whether in anger or passion. She was rich and famous. Then, just when I wondered at my own luck, she opened those rosebud lips and out popped some outrageous insult that had me struggling not to burst out laughing. That was how I dared. The bloody woman drove me up a wall. In those first few weeks of our life together, I made no secret of the fact that the only reason I didn't turn her over my knee was because I doubted she'd realize it was meant as a punishment.
That was the night that the most maddening, amazing, confusing, exquisite, snide, snotty wonderful woman in the world became my fiancée and then my wife.
Oh, crap! I thought, echoing my fiancé's words of less than an hour before. Beside me in the waiting room of the hospital, Niles eyed me with gentle concern as I sat twisting the long skirt of my gown in shaking hands, swallowing hard to battle back what little of my dinner still remained unheaved.
I swore I wasn't having second thoughts, but I was lying. I even referred to him as "the man I love," which is as close as I can bring myself to saying those scary words that I so desperately wish I could say. While it's true that I l -- l -- lo -- care very deeply about Niles, I was having second thoughts. And third thoughts. In fact, I figured by that time I was up to at least twelve separate and totally conflicting thoughts.
Some were of our battle-weary past: Niles smiling at Nanny Fine over some creative new insult toward me; Niles faking concern for my welfare to draw me into some new and devious prank; Niles glaring when I got him good, as I often did. Some were of those tortured moments when we couldn't deny our attraction, like the time he kissed me in the living room, or when we came home dancing after I won my big award. Some were more recent: Niles following me to California out of jealousy; Niles' smile of proprietary pride when he came home from London to find our relationship out in the open, thanks to Nanny Fine's senile grandmother; Niles nude, pressed against me, his wonderful body doing things to me that I thought only happened in romance novels. I actually saw stars a couple of times!
Morty was singing an old romantic tune and C.C. was in my arms. Her small, strong hand rested in mine and her face was happy and animated as we chatted. That night, I was hard pressed to match wits with her because of my nervousness over the secret gift I had for her. A solitaire diamond engagement ring was burning a hole in my jacket pocket, and my courage was dwindling by the second.
That ring cost me the better part of my savings, but I was so desperate to make this creature my wife that I'd have spent every penny I had and sold myself into slavery and my soul to Satan to accomplish it. Of course, if I married her, I'd be selling both body and soul to Satan's sister, so it all amounted to the same.
"Babcock," I began nervously. "I've been thinking. I know I shouldn't have asked you to marry me when I did. We weren't ready." That was the understatement of the century. Fifteen years of nonstop fighting and one day I just pop out with a proposal. Smooth, Niles, very smooth.
"That's why I laughed in your face, lover!" she replied cheerfully.
Wench. Still, I didn't dare risk spoiling the moment with a zinger of my own, not if I was going to win her heart and hand. She might be a hellcat, but she was still a woman. No, the DNA tests had never come back, but I was pretty well convinced just the same.
"But I think we're ready now." I released her and stepped back to pull the velvet box from my pocket and open it. "Will you marry me?"
C.C. gasped, and her whole body went still, her right hand drifting to her chest in a gesture of shock. For a moment, her left hand hovered in the air, but just as I was about to take it and slip the ring onto her hand, she looked at me with a face full of horror and, without a word, turned and fled.
I shut my eyes to fight against the sight of that hopeful, puppy-dog look on his face when he asked me to marry him at the party. It was so un-Niles, and my fluttering heart and helpless confusion were so un-C.C. it was as though two strangers stood there sharing one of the most intimate moments of my life. But it was definitely me who turned and ran away.
Nanny Fine followed, and disaster occurred. Ooh, there's a shocker.
Having lived in Manhattan for most of my life, I'd been stuck in a lift a time or two, but even though it was unpleasant, it was never a life-changing experience before. Of course I'd never been stuck in an elevator with Fran Fine Sheffield in screaming labor. Okay, so maybe telling her to just cross her legs wasn't the most insightful thing I've ever said, but in my opinion, we wouldn't have been in that mess if she'd just crossed her legs a long time ago!
It's just as well we got stuck. Where would I have gone? All I knew was, I had to get away from those loving eyes that whispered silently, Please, C.C. Please love me. Even more, I had to get away from the inner voice that urged me to accept, that felt drawn by the fire in him whether it was wise or not. So I ran blindly, my stomach churning, not caring where I went, just so I didn't have to see his face or listen to myself.
Just my luck, I ended up stuck in an elevator with the Flushing Foghorn instead. Worse, she was in labor. And my God, even in howling pain she managed to ask such probing questions and to say such wise and irritating things that she made everything seem clear. Talk about embracing your inner yenta. I think the moment I knew I'd give in was at the very beginning, when she was trying to persuade me to marry Niles, and her argument was "I mean, the man irons rags!" and it actually sounded like a good thing. And I really knew I was losing it when I wondered why she thought of that instead of his many real talents, like singing. It hit me then how much more he had come to mean to me.
I was unable to move or react as I watched her go, but inside, I felt all the pain and loss I couldn't express.
Thank god for Mr. and Mrs. Sheffield. They were at my side in a second with their solicitous questions. Mr. Sheffield stopped me from going after her, and Mrs. Sheffield, as soon as she understood the situation, followed her in my place.
That was the last we saw or heard of them for what I am certain was the worst hour of my entire life. Mr. Sheffield was maddeningly unconcerned, seeming to feel that because his ending was happy, everyone else's ending would be, too. Well, he wasn't crazy in love with Babcock. In those dark moments, I wished I had half his common sense. I mean, for god's sake, the woman had me too scared and depressed to drink! Meaning to get plastered, I ended up toying with a glass of fine scotch that tasted like rancid water to me.
I've got to admit, she has a way of cutting through the psychological flak to find the real issue. "Why does he have to ruin everything? What the hell does he want to marry me for?" I asked in agony. The unspoken questions were, Why would anyone really want me? How can I trust him never to leave? How can I put everything on the line when I have no guarantees?
She replied, "Because he loves you."
That simple. And that complex.
My next question was, "How do I know Niles is the one? How do I know I'm not making a mistake?" By this time, she was already lying on the floor in pain, but she was no less concise just because her ovaries were in knots.
"You don't. But if you don't take a chance, you're never going to find out. And believe me, that's harder to live with."
I supposed she was talking about the long years of waiting for Maxwell to commit himself to her. But still, nothing she said made any sense to me until that last part. I heard Niles' angry words from a few weeks before: And where will you be ten, twenty years from now? You'll be saying Merry Christmas to your friends in rehab, and wondering what might have been.
So that was it. The same challenge that sent me running into Niles' arms weeks ago was before me again, and time hadn't made it any easier. The question wasn't, do I want to marry Niles? It was, could I go on without him knowing we could have been together if not for my cowardice? I felt as though I teetered on a ledge high above the ground. I could move back to safe and solid ground, but there was nothing there. Or I could hurl myself off the ledge and trust Niles to catch me.
At that point, I did hurl. Literally. But not until I'd asked one final question that transparently begged for reassurance. "Do you think I have what it takes to be a good wife?"
She didn't hesitate at all. "No," she said bluntly, with a smile. "But he does." Strangely, that was the most comforting thing of all. I'd been seeing myself trying to be the stereotypical sweet, Donna Reed-ish adoring wifey. God, no wonder I ran. But that simple refusal to indulge my insecurity reassured me that no one, least of all Niles, would expect me to change.
I had nothing to do but wait and think about her, my maddening lover. Or was it ex-lover? Why had I ever proposed again? Why hadn't I just blown my cash on a diamond necklace or an exotic vacation for the two of us? What was wrong with me, did I have some kind of matrimonial Tourette's? Proposals just seemed to slip out without thought or reason when I got anywhere near her.
Where was she? With any luck, she was holed up somewhere talking with Mrs. Sheffield, or had at least taken a taxi home. What if she was so upset she'd run mindlessly into the night and gotten herself in danger, or ended up getting drunk in the first bar she came to, where anyone could take advantage of her?
Okay, so that wasn't likely. I'd back Babcock in any barroom brawl.
But what if I had, in one way or another, lost her forever?
At that point, circumstances demanded that I shelve my own issues for the time being and attend to the fact that I might be experiencing the miracle of birth shortly. But inside, my mind churned almost as much as my rebellious stomach. He loves me. I love him. As comfortingly familiar as my pre-Niles past was, the thought of my solitary apartment, dog, and liquor cabinet held little appeal when I could have all that and the love I'd always wanted, too, with a man who could be tender when I needed it and sharp when I deserved it. And most of all, he wanted me. Not some sweet young flake, not some airhead sex kitten in slutty skirts. He really wanted me.
The wonder of it all swept over me, and I longed to throw myself into his arms and swear I would be his wife. But still, I felt sick at the thought of giving anyone that much power to hurt me. No relationship of mine had ever lasted even this long before. I had no experience of love! In this, I might as well be a virgin. What if he changed his mind? What, even, if I did?
My heart rebelled against that last thought. I wouldn't change my mind! Not about this one. Not about Niles, the man whose sense of humor was like mine, whose sense of adventure equaled mine, whose passion was endless and generous in response to my own, Niles who knew everything about me and loved me for it. When I was with him, I felt as though each of us brought out and amplified the best in each other, as though separately, one and one made two, but put together, the sum of our strengths grew exponentially greater.
Seductively, the idea wove its way through my consciousness. Acceptance. Affection. A strength in him that only made me stronger. No nasty surprises when he met the "real C.C." Just quarreling and lovemaking and mutual trust and faith all our lives.
After all, he had to have been scared, but he reached out time and again. He had enough faith in me to try. And I could do no less for him.
"Perhaps," I said dismally, "I'm destined to spend my life as an old maid."
"Literally," he replied, laughing.
"You're not supporting my hurt, sir."
"Oh, come on, Niles, you'd make a wonderful catch! Where's she going to find a man like you?"
"You know, you're right!" I said, feeling that even if I had nothing else left, I might still have a shred of pride. "I live in a lovely home (his, I thought), drive an expensive car (his again), I'm a successful Broadway produ -- (even I can't rationalize that one) -- oops, sad again," I said sarcastically. So much for pride. At that point, I didn't even have my feather duster left. I was going to have to get rid of it. It brought back too many memories of "dusting" C.C.
As if my poor ego hadn't taken enough of a beating for one lifetime, just as Mr. Sheffield patted my hand and tried to say something conciliatory about how happy I'd made him (like I cared at that point), some damn fool woman with a sappy look on her face mistook the two of us for lovers and tried to sell us some flowers. But Mr. Sheffield was just such a sweetie-poo. He bought me a rose.
Nice thought, but it did crap to make me feel better.
Finally, news came, and with it, both hope and fear increased. Margaret arrived to inform us that Fran's distinctive voice was emanating from a stuck elevator. Did this mean she'd never found C.C., or was C.C. stuck too? We wasted no time in running to the rescue. Whether C.C. was there or not, my best friend was in danger, and having something, anything to do, made me feel better.
With renewed energy but no less nausea, unfortunately, I sang songs and told jokes and clowned around to try and cheer and reassure my increasingly terrified patient, but with little or no success. I make no pretensions to being a nurse, but I really did try. And then, finally, Maxwell's voice came through the door. I leapt to my feet as Fran began screaming.
"Niles!" I screamed, pressing myself against the doors as though I could melt through them by will.
"Miss Babcock -- " he cut himself off abruptly. He mumbled something, and I couldn't understand what he was saying. Nevertheless, I pressed on as my stomach turned flip-flops inside me.
"I have an answer to your question! I've thought long and hard about it," And spewed long and hard about it, I thought silently, "and my answer is that I would love to marry you."
Damn Nanny Fine, must she always come between me and happiness? At that moment, her voice rose as a contraction hit her. The scream was deafening, and must have been even from outside the elevator, blocking my words.
I began again. "What I said was -- "
Maxwell cut through. "Darling, are you all right?" Damn you, Maxwell! After all I've done for you, you can't even let me get engaged without sticking your butt in!
Then Niles, dear impetuous Niles, spoke, and his voice sounded impatient, louder, as though we were separated only by inches despite the metal doors between us. "Of course she's all right! Miss Babcock, could you say it one more time?"
I paused a beat, just in case Nanny Fine felt like spoiling a perfectly beautiful moment again with her nasal screaming. Then, I took a deep breath and shouted to him, "Niles! I would love to marry you."
For a second, utter silence, and I panicked. Then, I heard him shout an exultant "YES!" (not the first time he's shouted "Yes!" in my presence, by the way!) and I heard him issuing terse commands. When he commanded someone to get out of his way and the doors began to rattle, I flattened myself against the far wall. Then, the doors flew back and he was there, with a look on his face like Hercules performing all twelve of his labors at once, and he extended his hand to me. I put mine trustingly into his and stepped around Nanny Fine's prone body to be caught in his arms, swung around, and kissed. "I love you, Miss Babcock!"
She said yes. She said yes. I don't believe it. C.C. screamed through several inches of metal that she would marry me, and after all I'd been through that night, several inches of metal weren't nearly enough to deter me from having her in my arms. I nearly gave the poor fool trying to crowbar open the door a concussion as I shoved him aside and pried at the doors with my fingers. If you've ever heard of those mothers that suddenly get superhuman strength upon seeing their child in danger, that's what happened to me. She'd already plummeted several floors before the automatic breaks kicked in, and knowing that, I guess the adrenaline of Fran screaming, C.C. screaming, and me just wanting to hold my fiancée -- my fiancée! -- was just too much for me.
I barely remember shoving the doors open, but I remember her look of terror and hope, and the nimble way she leapt into my arms, her little hand in mine feeling like the sweetest touch I'd ever known. I swung her around and kissed her. "I love you, Miss Babcock!"
Five words I never thought I'd say.
For a moment, I was even irrationally angry at Fran for choosing that moment to go into labor, separating me temporarily from C.C.
I tried to say it back, I really did, but what came out was a rough, lusty, "Call me C.C.!" Trust my warped sense of humor to kick in at a time like this!
He gave a happy moan and hugged me as an impromptu celebration burst out all around us. But we barely had five seconds together before we were separated by the emergency of Nanny Fine's impending birth.
As he ran to call a cab and I left for the hospital, his hand reached toward mine even as we had to run in opposite directions.
I fidgeted impatiently every minute until we met up later at the hospital. After the big girl and I got her registered, we went outside to wait.
Everyone arrived from different directions at about the same time. I can't tell you how deeply gratifying it was to see Niles shove Nanny Fine's suitcase at Maxwell and come to me. And as he put his arms around me, he finally had that hated puppydog look out of his eyes. There, outside the hospital, as Nanny Fine screamed and everyone else rushed in circles, we stood in a calm oasis of two as he slipped the diamond onto my left hand. That finger had been bare all my life in preparation for the moment when I could look into the eyes of someone I loved and know he loved me enough to marry me. Now it was finally happening. I loved him so, and I felt like crying. The emotion was almost more than I could bear.
C.C. and Maggie stood outside the emergency room doors awaiting our arrival. It had been over an hour since I'd seen her. She waited impatiently, looking worried and anxious, until I arrived. I shoved the suitcase at Maxwell and took her in my arms. We stood out of the way and just held each other for a few minutes. Then, she looked almost shyly into my eyes and held out her left hand. I removed the box from my pocket and the diamond from its resting-place in a bed of blue velvet and slipped it onto her hand. Her fingers tightened around mine, and I held her and kissed her. Hand in hand, we entered the hospital.
Still, something was missing. One more thing was needed to make this a perfect moment. And I realized I still owed her one for that comment at the party about laughing in my face!
Squeezing her fingers, I said to her, "I still can't believe it! Miss Fine got the man of her dreams, and now I got the man of mine."
That got her. Of course, like the whipped wuss that I am, I started to apologize. But suddenly, her face crumpled and she started to feel sick. She insisted she wasn't having second thoughts, but she admitted that her nausea started right around the time I proposed.
Niles knew exactly what I needed: an insult! But by the time he finished referring to me as the "man of his dreams," I was nauseous again, and all his solicitous concern couldn't change the fact that I was scared that this nausea meant that I had made a mistake. Was I being too reckless? We'd only been together for a few weeks, and less than half of that time was out in the open.
Or maybe I was really sick. I sincerely hoped so, then I could write this off as the flu and not worry about it.
No luck there. Although the young medic who saw me was cheerful and efficient, he couldn't find a damn thing wrong with me. There were no major flu strains going around, and besides, my nausea was the only symptom I had.
So it was back to my original muse, Nanny Fine. I didn't feel particularly guilty about butting in when she was trying to have a baby. After all, women had babies every damn day. Besides, she didn't feel too bad about screaming when I was trying to get myself engaged.
"Oh, God," I moaned, but there was no help coming from that quarter, or from Mr. Sheffield, who sat calmly filling out intake forms while my life was ending. Five years I put into setting that man's life straight and can he give me five minutes? "Oh, God," I moaned again.
He can be a little thick at times. Even C.C., who once loved him, freely admitted that she'd often thought of buying an air pump to see if a refill would do him any good. But even Mr. Sheffield couldn't ignore me when I tapped him on the shoulder, said, "Excuse me sir. I think the gentleman over there is trying to get your attention," and returned to my seat.
"All right, old man, where's, ah, where's C.C.?" He was still getting used to not referring to her as "Miss Babcock" around me.
"Seeing a doctor trying to figure out why she hasn't stopped vomiting since I proposed." A thought struck me, and the sick thing was, I was perfectly serious. "Do you think maybe it's happy vomit?"
He chuckled. "She's just a little nervous, that's all! Put yourself in her shoes."
"Oh, I can't. They're too big." What? It's a reflex. Anyhow, it felt great to share a laugh with my old friend and boss as we had so many times in the past. But then I said, feeling like a man possessed, "Hey! That's my future wife you're laughing at, and I don't dig it." I was as surprised as he was. I couldn't wait to tell C.C. She'd get a huge kick out of it. I wished I had my camera to capture the look on his face. I know he thinks that all his employees exist solely to drive him insane. Actually, though, it's just one of the perks.
I hoped she was right when she claimed it was just nerves, because I'd had all I could stand, and the wild idea that I came up with then could have far-reaching consequences if she was wrong. Oh, well, if she was, I'd just throttle her. That'd ruin her shiny happy life!
Oh, yes, I knew exactly what I was doing when I promised her I'd stop upstaging her. I was planning the ultimate prank. If I was going to keep throwing up until the wedding, then the wedding was going to be then and there, and I felt a mischievous delight in finally paying her back for everything she'd ever done to me. After all, as helpful as she'd been tonight, there were a few incidents in the past for which I'd still like to even the score a little.
As I stormed down the hall to find the priest, a low, happy, devious laugh bubbled out of me.
I dragged him into the lobby where a terrified Niles had convinced himself I was about to dump him. I began issuing curt instructions. "Niles, find something to serve for decorations. Father O'Rourke, call somebody about a marriage license. Maxwell, get back in there with your wife where you belong. Somebody do something about food." The little girl ran off with Niles to improvise wedding costumes and decorations, and the big one dragged the boy off to find a drive-through that would serve up something we could have for a midnight buffet. I gave him enough money to buy food for forty. After all, Sylvia Fine would be there.
I spent the entire time trekking back and forth between the toilet and the priest's office, where I outlined a few notes for the ceremony and anxiously awaited the marriage license, which had taken all the influence a priest and a Babcock could jointly command.
Damn, that woman is full of surprises! At first, I couldn't believe she was serious. But she had the priest and the determination, and I'd seen enough of the Babcock influence to know that a license wouldn't be an issue. C.C. has a way of knowing just what buttons to press to get things done.
Poor Fran. C.C. was right, it was the ultimate practical joke. Before long, C.C., the children, and I were running all over the hospital trying to pull things together. In fact, Maggie and Brighton cruised half of Manhattan in the Porsche before finding a Kentucky Fried Chicken that was open all night. Every time I looked in on poor C.C., she was screaming at someone on the telephone or heaving. As much as I'd looked forward to showing her off to the world in a massive ostentatious wedding ceremony, pretty soon I wanted that damn wedding over with as much as she did. And an elopement was rather romantic, with an impetuosity I wouldn't have expected of her, except maybe at Home Depot. I was just glad that it was the poor priest who had to help her acquire a license and hold her head over a waste can. Poverty, charity, and chastity are one thing. C.C. is a whole different story.
The gift shop was just closing when I arrived with Gracie in tow. That child is amazing. Even when she was little, she could keep her head under any amount of stress. She was loving every minute of this, and I was going half off my head trying to imagine how weddings happened without consultants to plan them. That day's flowers had already been thrown away, but the clerk had planned on taking a bouquet of carnations home for his wife, and he let me buy one for a boutonniere. There was no way I could acquire a bouquet, though Grace offered to find someone who had flowers in their hospital room and steal the flowers while they slept. C.C. would have loved that, but I decided to resist the urge.
They didn't have much in the way of decorations, so we slipped out to a convenience store and managed to acquire some ribbon and wrapping paper to improvise with. Fran was not thrilled when Gracie appeared in her delivery room with tape, scissors, and ribbon, bubbling over with enthusiasm. Fran in labor was something I refused to face, so I stayed in the waiting room and convinced the nurses to let me decorate a little table for the buffet. By the time I was finished, Brighton and Maggie were there with the food and C.C. entered with the priest, triumphantly waving a marriage license that had just been delivered by special courier. All formalities had been waived, so we didn't have to worry about waiting times or blood testing. Since I'm not that fond of needles, that was a big relief. And I think C.C. got a big kick out of phoning everyone she knew with any influence and bribing, badgering, or threatening them to get what she wanted. Bribing, badgering, and threatening are some of her favorite hobbies.
Over the next couple of hours, the family gradually straggled back in. The older children brought buckets of chicken and little desserts in plastic containers, and cole slaw that passed even my fiancé's exacting culinary standards. Not the prime rib wedding dinner of my dreams, but not bad for an improvised party now long past midnight.
Niles had managed to scrounge up a boutonnière from somewhere, though I'll be damned if he didn't completely forget a bouquet for me. As we dressed in scrubs to enter the delivery room, the girl attached an extra green sheet thingy to the back of my cap to serve as veil.
In between projectile vomits, I had managed to acquire a marriage license because I knew a woman who was having an affair with the man who was in charge of those things. The handy thing is, I also knew his wife. Oh, the myriad joys of being a Babcock.
Just before we charged in to disrupt the birth process with a rousing party, Niles took my hand. "Last chance to back out, Babcock," he said.
Sobering thought. "If we don't do this now," I said, "I'm afraid it may never get done, and I don't want to live without you. I couldn't bear it. Besides, you're the butler, therefore you have to do as I say and I say you're going to marry me right now."
Niles smiled at me, and didn't wipe that damn silly grin off his face the entire time.
Fran's Aunt Rose and Uncle Stanley came in halfway through the wedding, and for a few moments, Fran's screaming nearly derailed the whole ceremony. But Rose, whom I’d met only once or twice in the last six years, seemed to sense my nerves at once. I relaxed a little bit as she rubbed my arm soothingly.
The priest gave me the shock of a lifetime when, in direct opposition to my strict instructions, he referred to me by my true name.
"Chastity Claire?" The entire room echoed his words and did a double take. Oh no, here it comes, the moment I've been dreading for over fifteen years. Niles knows my true name.
Niles cast me an adoring, syrupy look that almost made me heave again, and said, "Oh, it's a beautiful name!" I was stunned. Good God, was the man ill? I felt irrationally disappointed.
I missed it. I don't bloody believe I missed it. But looking into her big, anxious blue eyes and watching her hand convulsively clench the sheet that protected us from seeing more of Mrs. Sheffield than we wanted to, somehow it just didn't register. All that mattered was her. And it is a beautiful name.
But Chastity? What were her parents thinking?
I think she pretty much took a stand on the issues raised by her first name the night she told me she had to pick something up at Home Depot. Something got "picked up" all right. We're lucky the cops didn't pick us up. But then, the risk of getting caught is half the fun.
The rest of the ceremony flew by and before I knew it, everyone but Maxwell was kicked out. Okay, so the truth is, I got kicked out by Nanny Fine for saying something insensitive about my stomach feeling better while she was trying to give birth. The party just sort of followed me to the waiting room.
My stomach had settled enough to enjoy a piece of greasy chicken, some wedding cake (a Twinkie from the snack machine; Yetta was thrilled she finally won!) and a hot and heavy romp in the broom closet with my husband. Hey, it was almost morning by that time, and there was no time to sneak away to a hotel before the birth. That damn big haired tramp and her future big-haired brats weren't keeping me from my wedding night! And if that seems unconventional, you should have seen us a couple of weeks ago in the aluminum sheds at Home Depot! I never knew those tools they sell could be so versatile.
She looked so innocent that for a few minutes, even I believed she was just being thoughtless when she cheerfully informed a screaming Mrs. Sheffield that she felt much better. But when I saw Fran's outraged reaction, culminating in our being forcibly ejected from the delivery room, I caught the naughty twinkle in my wife's eyes and I knew the truth.
Oh, that wicked, wicked woman. How I love her.
And now she's my wife. I still don't believe it.
The first thought on my mind was that under the circumstances, I wondered when we would possibly find time to have sex. Of course, I underestimated my wife. As she nibbled daintily on a greasy chicken leg and sipped at the cheap champagne Maggie and Brighton found at an all-night liquor store, I saw her eyeing me speculatively, and I suspected she was up to something, but she wasn't saying anything just yet. Then, she gave Yetta a few quarters and encouraged her to try again at the "slot machines" so we could have some wedding cake. As I ate my Twinkie, my wife slinked up to me and dabbed the cream filling from the corner of my mouth. She licked it provocatively from her fingertip and smiled at me the way she had when she offered to take me to the airport in the limo so she could get some duty-free perfume. That was when I knew I was in for an adventure.
"I thought you'd be right at home here, Easy-off!" she said with her trademark evil smile as she shut the door to the broom closet and leaned against it, blocking my way out as though I'd really want to escape!
Our scrubs landed in a corner, and I pressed her up against the wall and kissed her. Our hands began to fumble at our clothing, and we quickly enjoyed a honeymoon night that I am certain is unlike any other in the history of the world. And not only because it took place in a hospital broom closet.
When we returned to the lobby, she had that priceless innocent look on her face again. Everybody pretended not to know what we'd been doing, except for Sylvia Fine, who stared in open shock at C.C.'s chest. C.C. glanced down and found that just above her neckline a smear of red lipstick had rubbed off on me and subsequently on her. She hastily rubbed it away as I turned aside and scrubbed my lips with my handkerchief, pretending to cough to cover my actions. Yetta just smiled wickedly at both of us. Sometimes I really wonder if that woman is really as meshugge as she appears to be.
But in the aftermath of our delightful trip to the closet, we were both feeling the strain of the night's events. We sank together into a chair made for one and she snuggled up against me, putting her arms around my neck. We slept that way for a couple of hours until a nurse came to inform us that the Sheffield twins had made their entrance. As we struggled back into our scrubs, C.C. had that look in her eye and I'm sure I did too, but there was no time. And I really couldn't wait to see the twins.
Afterwards, we caught a nap in the waiting room. He drifted off easily, and I watched his face as he slept, permeated by a sense of peace and well being as my husband's strong arm circled my waist. The last thing I remember is leaning my head against his shoulder and putting my arms around his neck, toying with his hair. I just can't resist the way it curls over his collar. Then, I was asleep, pressed up close to him.
I was awakened some time later by Niles shifting his position underneath me. I was just about to propose that we check out an empty surgery and play doctor when the news came that Fran's ordeal was finally over.
"I knew anyway," shrugged Niles. "The screaming stopped."
And even as a strange sensation came over me at the sight of those babies, a sensation of wanting to kiss and cuddle and coo to them, heaven help me, my doctor entered and served up yet another dish at the mad tea party that had been my evening. Engagement, marriage, revenge on Nanny Fine -- and my own impending motherhood! As Dr. Taylor's words penetrated my tired brain, I looked at Niles to gauge his reaction. We fainted at the same moment.
A minute later, we still lay on the floor, but I had climbed on top of him and begun to shake him, screaming, "You did this to me, you bastard!" I've no idea why, I was actually pretty happy, it just seemed the thing to do.
Niles grabbed my shoulders and pulled me down to him. "Shut the hell up, Mommy!" he said, laughing, and kissed me.
C.C. and I seem to have two ways of celebrating any event, and fighting is the other one. Hell, it got her on top of me, so what did I care?
Actually her reaction gave me some concern for a while. I knew she was no Mother Goose, but how could she honestly not want our child?
But then I kissed her, determined that nothing would spoil our day, and as we rose to our feet, C.C. placed her hand over her stomach and a look of awe crossed her face.
"I'm a mommy," I said, stunned, as Maxwell helped me to my feet and the children did the same for Niles. I flung myself into his arms. "I'm a mommy! And you're a -- " I gulped.
"Daddy," he said wonderingly. "I have a child. We have a child."
"Oh, Niles!" I hugged him as tightly as I could, and we quietly held each in the midst of celebration. As Shakespeare said, silence is the perfectest herald of joy.
All I can remember of that time is Niles' arms around me, as though my whole existence was reduced to that simple touch of flesh to flesh.
Maxwell camped out on a bed next to Fran's at the hospital, but the rest of us went home to shower and rest.
As we all stood in the living room staring at each other, the boy cleared his throat. "Well, with Dad at the hospital, I guess that makes me the man of the family." We all looked at him in surprise. "So Niles, I think you should take the day off and spend it with your wife." At this last part, his face crinkled up and he whimpered a little.
We thanked him and promised to see them back at the hospital that afternoon. He assured us, trying to look manly and knowledgeable, "I'm sure you want to have some privacy, being newlyweds." Then, pulling a face, he added, "Besides, I'm really sick of having to try and sleep through the noises you two make. You are moving to C.C.'s place, right Niles?"
"Never mind," said the big girl, the one who was just a newlywed herself. Taking my hands, she assured us, "He's just jealous that noises like that will never come out of his room."
Amidst the laughter, Niles said dryly, "Not from him and those pin-up girlfriends of his, anyhow." The boy pulled a face and punched Niles' arm, and Niles added, "You need to improve your taste in women. Those bimbos you date don't have minds of their own, so how can they be really passionate about you? Get yourself a hellion, boy!"
I gasped. "So 'Boy' really is his name?" I asked.
He glared at us. "Aww, get out of here," he said irritably and stomped upstairs.
"Was it something I said?" I asked innocently.
Niles chuckled and led me to the door. "No, he's just gone to look up 'hellion' on the Internet."
We reached her apartment just as dawn broke over the city. As soon as she unlocked the door, I swept her up in my arms and carried her across the threshold.
"I'm going to shower before bed," she said. "Do you want to go first?"
"Why not together?" I asked.
Her eyes sparkled. "Later. You go, while I put the satin sheets on the bed and find something for you to rip off of my body."
I showered first, and while C.C. took her turn, I found some Evian (no booze for the knocked-up blonde floozy) and a couple of glasses. There were no fresh flowers in her apartment, a problem I promised myself I'd remedy as soon as the florists opened, so the best I could do was to shred the petals from my boutonniere and scatter them over the sheets. C.C. had already lit candles and turned down the bedcovers.
I reclined against the pillows and drowsed while I waited for her. Somehow, I sensed her entrance and awoke.
My mouth fell open. C.C. stood before me in a long, clingy white lace gown. It was obviously an antique, high waisted and low cut, and as she came toward me, the skirts slithered back to reveal a thigh-high slit.
"You like?" she asked with a catlike smile. "I've been saving it for a special occasion. I think this qualifies."
She crawled across the bed to slide her body against me, her leg nestled between mine, her breasts pressed against my bare chest. Her warm, soft mouth teased at mine.
I rolled her over and pinned her. I began to kiss and touch her all over, as she did me.
C.C. looked up at me blissfully and said, "I love you, Niles."
"I love you too, Babcock," I whispered against her throat, nipping it. She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me closer to her.
For only the second time in my life, and the first time I could do so slowly and properly in a bed, I made love to my wife.
The End
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