The tale begins near the conclusion of Yetta’s Letta’s,
when C.C. bolts up the kitchen stairway to be with Niles.
by
Denise
(scholars_parrot@lycos.com)
Niles waited for her. As always, his heart pounded in anticipation. Their weeks of clandestine trysts hadn’t diminished the fervor. Tonight had already seen one rendezvous in the most unlikely of places: a subway station in the heart of Times Square. Even he knew that was a little outrageous, but they couldn’t help themselves. What Niles and C.C. had lost in years, they would redeem in risk taking. The list of sites was growing so rapidly, soon scientific notation would be required to measure it.
He heard her footsteps as she climbed the stairway and approached his room. He now thought of it as their room and, surprisingly, so did she.
Tonight would have been special no matter what. A triumphant opening of a Broadway musical was spectacular indeed, and fairly hard to top. But top it they would. They’d already celebrated -- lavishly at the cast party and quietly in the kitchen with the Sheffields. Soon they would celebrate privately. How wonderful it would be to have each other to take pleasure in long after all the very public euphoria had faded.
In the past, C.C. always experienced something of a letdown on such a night. The old routine of climbing into bed alone, or with someone she hardly knew and cared very little for, neither fulfilled the evening’s early promise nor delivered the ease she sought. But now she had found her comfort and fulfillment, and would be able to continue the celebration with the man she loved.
“Hello, hello!” C.C. sprang through the doorway, her signature greeting imbued with a provocative allure meant only for his ears.
His arms immediately wrapped tightly around her. “What took you so long?” Niles arrived in the room only seconds before, but was already stripped to his waist.
“I had to fake out Max and Frannie.”
“That almost sounds nasty. I wish I’d watched.”
“You wouldn’t be satisfied with just watching.” She glanced over his shoulder and noticed the champagne chilling on ice. “When did you get that?”
“I’ve had that since birth. Much more noticeable now, though.”
She lightly slapped his arm. “I meant the champagne. We’ve been together the entire day. When did you find the time?”
“Oh, I still have a few trade secrets.”
“Not many. As you know, I’m well aware of the optional uses for most of your tools of trade. But you haven’t answered my question. How did you know we had such a hit on our hands?”
Niles’ eyes focused downward as his hands busily undid her jacket buttons. “You were so enthusiastic and your judgment is so impeccable, I just naturally smelled a Tony.”
“Only because I haven’t showered yet.” She was touched by his belief in her, but sometimes had a difficult time letting him know.
Realizing she’d recalled his insult from long ago, he looked up in surprise. “You remembered that, huh?” He then whispered in her ear, “That’s right. An elephant never forgets.”
“Niles, you’ve used that one too much. It’s lame, even by your pathetically low standards.”
“You know all about my low standards, don’t you?” His lips brushed against her cheek and jaw. “It was the best I could do under the circumstances. My mind’s preoccupied, you see.”
“And I just thought you couldn’t think straight because there isn’t enough blood left in your brain.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
After their very private and wonderfully thorough celebration, C.C. lay in Niles’ arms and contemplated all of the night’s remarkable events. Exhaustion should have been the overriding emotion, but she was still far too hyped to sleep. “Can you believe tonight almost didn’t happen?”
Niles couldn’t disagree more. “What do you mean ‘almost didn’t happen’? Tonight was inevitable. Tonight and every night.”
“Every morning, afternoon, and evening too, but no I don’t mean that. I mean the musical. To think, it wouldn’t have been produced if Nanny Fine hadn’t accidentally sent that packet to Andrew Lloyd Webber. Talk about dumb luck. I’m beginning to wonder if Maxwell has any sense at all when it comes to judging new material. Who knows how many potential hits he’s overlooked?”
“Well, I know of one possibility.”
“What do you mean?”
He thought better of the notion. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me,” she urged, but he still seemed hesitant. “C’mon, Niles. You know how well we share now.”
“That I do. All right, then. I’ve submitted a play to Mr. Sheffield on several occasions, and he’s never bothered to give it his full attention.”
“Is it by your friend who wrote the play you and Nanny Fine produced?”
“No,” he wavered slightly, “I wrote it.”
“You wrote a play? Why have I never heard about this?”
“At the time, it didn’t seem a good idea to let you know.”
“And Maxwell looked at it and didn’t tell me? Oh well, he probably didn’t want me torturing you.”
“Exactly. I was doubtful you’d give a fair opinion,” he paused and waved an arm to suggest the intimate nature of their relationship, “you know, before we got together. And quite frankly, I’m not certain you would give an honest opinion,” he gave another pause, accompanied by another arm wave, “you know, now that we’re together. Perhaps it isn’t gentlemanly to ask. I don’t wish to take advantage of you.”
“Ha, like hell you don’t! You take advantage every chance you get.”
“Yes, and you give a lot of chances -- for which I’m ever so grateful. But really, C.C., this is different. I don’t want to put you on the spot.”
“Niles, I’m almost offended. I can distinguish business from pleasure. Trust me, if your play stinks, I’ll let you know.”
“Well, I’m a little leery of that, too.”
“Do you have a copy on hand?”
“Yes, of course,” he answered.
“Get it. I want to read it now.”
“In bed?” He sounded surprised.
“I always read scripts in bed, you know that.”
“No, I can’t say I’ve noticed.”
“Well, I guess I have fallen way behind in reviewing scripts recently.” C.C. raised up and gently bit his earlobe. She was determined to take a look at his play. “Niles, please let me read it. I really want to.” Her whisper was as nice and as sweetly seductive as possible.
“I’m not sure.”
She decided to change her tack. “C’mon, hand it over, Mister!”
“How many times have I heard you say that lately?” Niles teased, but there was doubt behind his humor.
“And you’ve always complied without hesitation. What’s the problem now?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s just that...” He was reluctant to say.
“What? Tell me.”
“What if you don’t like it? I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.”
“Niles, if the last few weeks are at all an indication, I don’t think there’s a remote possibility of that.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
He anxiously awaited the verdict.
“You are driving me insane. How can I read with those blue eyes of yours bearing down on me?” She noticed his hurt expression and softened her rebuke. “Makes me want to have something else of yours bearing down on me.”
“Well, lord knows I don’t want you insane again -- I’m sure conjugal visits are seriously frowned upon at the Place.” He placed a hand on her arm and gently asked, “How about I fix us a snack for later?”
Her attention had fully returned to the script. She absently nodded and, in characteristic fashion, brushed a stray lock away from her face. He readied to leave, but when he shifted from the bed she grabbed his wrist and pleaded, “No, stay. I’m almost through.”
He gave her hand a squeeze and sat back against the headboard. Niles looked for some clue as to how she was reacting to his play. Normally, he could read her like a book, but tonight her features were enigmatic.
When she finished, she set the script aside and spoke. “I don’t know what to say. I’m stunned!”
“What? No good?”
“No, it’s great! What did Maxwell say about it?”
“I believe his exact words were ‘a boring three-act play about a butler’s life.’ He also said it was too predictable, too one-dimensional and far too British for its own good.”
“He is something of an authority when it comes to those characteristics, but honestly, he’s called this all wrong. Niles, it’s genius!”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.” She clearly meant it.
“And you’re not just saying that so you can have your way with me?”
“I can have my way with you whether I say it or not.”
“True. So you really like it?”
“I love it. It’s so unique and quirky. It’s got sort of an offbeat Harvey Fierstein–Noel Coward–Terrence McNally all-rolled-up-into-one quality going for it.” She noticed his crestfallen look. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that. You couldn’t have said an Arthur Miller–George Bernard Shaw–Neil Simon kind of quality?”
She immediately understood his objection. “Trust me. I’m not impugning your manhood.”
“Yes, but all the same, I’d rather be associated with the more heterosexual playwrights.”
“George Bernard Shaw?! Oh, yeah. I can see why you would choose to rank yourself with him. Wasn’t he celibate for like, what, about a thousand years?”
“Careful.” He appreciated her little joke, but was just a touch miffed all the same. “I’d say we’ve reversed the celibacy issue quite nicely, thank you very much!”
“You’re very welcome.” Her voice was soft and sultry as she leaned toward him to signal a momentary truce. Sultry whisper aside, C.C. again made her case, “But what can I say? Today’s audiences want a different viewpoint.”
“Well, it seems to me there’s still a demand for Arthur Miller’s point of view. I believe the revival of Death of a Salesman is currently a huge hit on Broadway.”
“When you write Death of a Butler, I’ll hail you as the next Miller.”
“If I really wished to emulate him, instead of Death of a Butler, I’d write a play based on the woman in my life. Wasn’t one of his biggest successes about the Salem Witch Trials?”
C.C.’s frustration was evident. “What does it matter who I compare you to, as long as they’re all successful playwrights?”
There was some logic to her statement, still, he mumbled in protest, “I can relate to my group more.” Suddenly tired of disagreeing, he decided to score big points instead. “I can especially relate to Arthur Miller,” he began nibbling her neck, “and how he was once involved with the sexiest blonde on the planet.”
“Are you comparing me to Marilyn Monroe? Niles, I’m touched.”
He answered between nibbles, “I’m not just comparing. I’m saying she was the sexiest blonde then, you’re the sexiest blonde now. But in a head-to-head competition, you’d win hands down.”
“Oooh, you are so good with words!” She closed her eyes, leaned back, and fully enjoyed his attentions.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next day, C.C. and Niles huddled in the Sheffield kitchen and discussed his play. Each time anyone came through the door, the couple tore apart and pretended to go about some solitary task entirely independent of the other. Niles and C.C. were under the delusion they were keeping dual secrets: the first concerned their affair; the second -- and the only true secret -- concerned his play and how they might manage to see it produced.
C.C. knew of a more daring, non-profit company that was looking for material precisely like Niles’ Love! Valet! Compassion!, and she was tempted to pass it on to them, but resisted. She really wanted Sheffield-Babcock Productions to handle this one. (Besides, the idea of “non-profit” theatre was not in keeping with her nature.) “I hate to give it to the competition. I’ll try pitching the idea to Maxwell myself.”
“But I’ve done that. He doesn’t give it a shilling’s worth of attention.”
“No offense, Niles, but you’re his butler. Don’t you think he’ll be a little more likely to listen to what his business partner has to say? Anyway, we’ll make a big production of it. He’ll have no choice but to pay close attention.”
“And if he says ‘no’?”
“Then we figure out a way to produce it ourselves,” she pronounced.
“Can you do that, I mean contractually? As you never cease to point out, you are his business partner.”
“I’m giving you my word, I’ll get your play produced.”
“No offense, but I thought you once said since you’re in show business, your word doesn’t mean ‘squat’?”
“It means something when I give it to you. Do you think I’d let a little thing like a contract stand in the way of a promise?” For once in her life, she was genuinely sincere.
Niles, realizing the irony of her statement was entirely unintentional, raised his brow. “No, I don’t think you would.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was a production number worthy of any Broadway or West End stage. Since Maxwell was more inclined to think of himself as a musical comedy producer rather than one who produced straight plays, Niles and C.C. musicalized a little segment, just to get his full attention. They truly had pulled out all the stops, but Maxwell still wasn’t the least bit interested.
Steaming from the rejection, C.C. stormed out of the living room into the kitchen and Niles quickly followed. “I can’t believe he’s not interested!” she roared. “And after all the trouble we went to.”
“I can’t believe you can’t believe it! Based on past experience, you should be quite accustomed to his lack of interest.” Old habits were dying hard and occasionally, even in her moments of distress, he was unable to repress the impulse toward ribbing.
“Can it, Niles. Let me think.”
Niles was suddenly uncertain. “I suppose there is the possibility his judgment is right on this one. Perhaps we’re not objective?”
“Oh, how can you say that!” She stamped her foot. “You know his track record.”
“Yes, but if someone keeps at something long enough, he’s bound to nail it sooner or later.” He put his hands on her shoulders and hoped to temper her mood with a playful remark. “Why, just look at you and me. I kept at it for years, and you know what finally happened.”
Normally, C.C. loved that sort of comment, but now she was so upset, it barely registered. “He’s not right about this. I know it! I have got to figure out a way to do this alone. I don’t care whether he ‘sees it’ or not. Your play is very worthy.”
“That’s sweet of you to think so, my love. I’m sure you’ll come up with a plan.” Niles was taken with her faith in his effort, but he couldn’t resist another teasing barb. “Figuring out how to do something alone shouldn’t be a problem for you. Until I came along, I understand you were quite the expert.”
That comment did register. “Me, an expert? Oh, Niles, take your left hand in your right and shake hands with the master.”
“You wicked woman.”
“You love it.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Want to go upstairs?”
“Why bother?” She grinned. “Haven’t you mentioned something about giving the pantry a try?”
Thirty minutes and several loud thumps and “hard knocks” later, they staggered out of the pantry.
As she finished buttoning her jacket C.C. wasted no time in picking up the conversation about Niles’ play. “How are we going to workshop this without Maxwell getting wind of it?”
Niles adjusted his tie and rolled his eyes.
“What?” C.C. was unclear of the gesture’s meaning.
“This is Mr. Sheffield we’re talking about. ‘Mr. Oblivious-to-everything-under-the-sun-that-isn’t-shamelessly-flirting-even-though-she’s-now-married-and-expecting-his-twins.’”
“Right! We might just be able to pull this off. Think about it, we’re talking about the man who overlooked Cats. Surely we can count on him to overlook any news that might come up about this.”
“You know, he’s always blamed you for the fact he passed on Cats.”
C.C. responded. “I know. When he first said that, I didn’t correct him because I was too young and green and too thrilled at hearing my name mentioned on television. But I didn’t tell him to not do it.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, what I said was if it did become a hit, it would eventually be sneered at by all the high-minded people he seemed so desperate to please. I told him to do it if he wanted nothing more than a commercial success, and he decided to turn his nose up at it.” She was getting quite defensive. “Does that sound like my fault to you?”
“Not a bit of it. But how was he even going to get an opportunity to produce it? Lloyd Webber always produces his own shows.”
“That’s another thing. It wasn’t to be composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber, the Bee Gees had been approached about doing it.”
“The Bee Gees?!” Niles was incredulous.
“Remember, it was the late 70s when the thing first came up. The idea was to give it a disco spin.”
“I can just imagine the slogan. ‘Disco sucks, now and forever.’” He shook his head in distaste. “Oh, my. I’ve just had the most hideous realization.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m beginning to understand Mr. Sheffield’s thinking on this one, and I find that more than a little disturbing.”
“Oh, Niles, that’s a scary thought straight out of a Stephen King novel.”
“Indeed. Perhaps I should give up on the play and write horror stories under an assumed name,” he joked.
“Hey, wait a minute!” she proclaimed. “That gives me an idea. I just thought of how we can handle everything. We’ll use a pseudonym. That way even if Max should hear about it, he won’t know it’s your play.”
“You don’t think he’ll recognize the plot?”
“You said yourself he never gave it his full attention. This will be perfect! We’ll play up the angle that the author wishes to keep his identity anonymous. That way we’ll grab a bunch of free publicity when people start speculating about who wrote it.”
“I don’t know. I’d kind of like to receive credit.”
“And you will. Once it’s produced and successful, we’ll reveal your identity. We’ll make a big announcement at the opening night party.”
“What if it’s not successful?” There was a trace of dread in his question.
“Well then, it’ll remain our little secret, and I can torture you with it forever.” The look on Niles’ face let her know he was clearly beginning to have second thoughts, and C.C. wanted to reassure him. “But that isn’t going to happen, I’m certain it will be a success. It’s too good not to be. A part of me still can’t believe Max passed on it.”
“You know what I can’t believe about that man? I can’t believe he had the audacity to ask about the broken shower door in my bathroom. How on earth did he even find out about it? From now on, we’re just going to have to watch ourselves.”
“Oooh, Niles.”
“What?”
“What you just said, ‘watch ourselves.’ Do you have a video camera?”
“On a butler’s salary? What do you think?”
“I’ll bring mine and a tripod over tonight.”
He looked at her askance. “Babcock, just how well equipped are you?”
“You mean you have to ask?” She wrapped her arms around him. “I thought you realized by now, in my own way I’m nearly as well equipped as you.”
Niles pulled her close and held her tightly. “That you are, my love, that you are.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
A little more than a year passed before Niles’ play was ready for its official debut. It was the most hectic and most joyous time of their lives. The months brought many changes and accomplishments. Some C.C. had anticipated; others, she had not. Marriage and a move to the the west coast; producing the TV series with Maxwell; producing theatre with Maxwell; and, the most glorious and wonderful change of all, producing an unexpected and utterly adored child with Niles.
Now, she was in the final stage of another collaboration with her husband. It was the evening Love! Valet! Compassion! was slated to premiere. As always happened prior to an opening, a sense of anxiety permeated every fiber of her being. In the past C.C. handled the anxiety with a nerve-calming drink (or two), but that formula had been abandoned in favor of an entirely new remedy.
It was nearly time to depart for the theater and Niles knew just where to find his wife. He opened the door to the nursery. “I was certain you’d be here. Ready to go, Mommy?”
Seated in a chair with the baby in her arms, she looked up and smiled. “Just a few more minutes.”
Niles moved across the nursery. “Getting your tranquility fix, huh?” He stood above C.C., placing one hand on her shoulder while the other gently stroked their daughter’s cheek.
“Exactly. You know, it amazes me, Niles.”
“What amazes you, love?”
“How something so tiny and delicate can have such power and strength. Every day she gets stronger and stronger. I can actually feel it when I hold her.”
“I know.” He was moved by C.C.’s sense of awe.
“She’s such a little life force. I had no idea. Are all babies like this?”
“They’re all fairly special, but she’s quite something indeed. Why, it’s my very impartial opinion she’s the most remarkable child I’ve ever beheld.”
“You’re making fun, Niles.”
“No, I’m not! She is remarkable. Look at those long lashes. Babies her age don’t typically have those.”
“They don’t have eyelashes?” she asked in all seriousness.
“Well, of course they have eyelashes, but not nearly as long as hers.”
“Did Max and Fran’s twins have long lashes?”
“C.C., are you getting competitive with the Sheffield twins?” His voice was gently chastising, but fatherly devotion soon won out and he proudly added, “And no, not like hers.” Niles reached for the baby. “Here, give her to me. I’ll put her in the crib while you finish getting ready.”
“What do you mean ‘finish getting ready’? I’m ready now, I spent the last hour getting ready, but if you can’t tell, I don’t know why I even bother!” Apparently, some portion of her anxiety remained.
Niles placed their daughter in her crib before responding. “Of course I can tell. You look lovely. That was just my polite way of asking if you need to visit the facilities.”
“Oh.” She was immediately calmed; in fact, she was calm enough to pose a teasing question. “It shows up occasionally, doesn’t it?”
“What?”
“The fact you’re British. C’mon, Niles. ‘Visit the facilities’? How stuffy would you be if we hadn’t been sleeping together for the past year?”
“Well, all I can say to that is be thankful my ‘Britishness’ doesn’t affect me at all times.” He wore his patented smirk and held the nursery door for her.
“Believe me, I am.” While they were leaving the nursery C.C. asked, “Did you check out the sitter?”
“Sitters, actually, it’s a married couple. And, no, I didn’t run the usual FBI background check, if that’s what you mean.”
“Niles, you’re exaggerating. I’m not that bad. I just think it’s important our sitters have the proper paperwork and credentials.”
“Don’t worry, the Sheffields are entrusting Jonah and Eve to these sitters, so I’m sure they meet the challenge.”
“Do these sitters have names?”
“Why do you ask?” he inquired.
“I’d just like to know.”
“Well, if you must know, it’s Sylvia and Morty.”
“Oh, good lord, whose idea was that? Nanny Fine’s?” She always reverted to calling Fran “Nanny Fine” when she was the least little bit irritated.
“Mine, actually.” Niles responded. “I thought it would be easier than going through the standard hassle of reviewing thousands of sitters’ resumes and reporting back to you.”
“I just hate the thought of such irresponsible people watching over our daughter. Who knows what might happen?”
He did his best to ease her fears. “I think it’s beautiful you’re so overprotective, but she’ll be fine. Babies are resilient little creatures, and Sylvia and Morty can handle the situation. If you’ll remember, they did raise Fran and her sister.”
“Niles, those are not comforting words.”
“C.C., they’re only babysitting. The evening isn’t going to involve gene-splicing. No DNA will be exchanged, I promise.”
“Okay, but I’m only agreeing to it for tonight. Don’t let it happen again without asking first. Understand?”
“I understand. Now let’s hurry. It really is time to leave. He noticed her giving him the once-over as he pulled on his tuxedo jacket and adjusted the fit. “What’s that glint about?”
“It’s just occurred to me, when you dress up we make quite an attractive pair.”
“Funny, it occurred to me quite some time ago when we dress up you make quite an attractive pair.” He leaned closer and looked down. “I love that plunging neckline.”
“I’ve told you how your leer affects me, so please stop it! You surely don’t want to show up late and disheveled on opening night.”
He nodded. “Perhaps that would be bad form.”
Niles returned to the nursery to gather up the baby and they prepared for the trek to the Sheffields’. As they were about to walk out the door, a curious fact crossed C.C.’s mind. “Niles, how on earth did you manage to keep Sylvia away from an opening night party?”
“Have you seen the mountain of food I prepared for her?”
“Oh, is that what’s going on in the kitchen? I thought maybe you were moonlighting as a caterer and handling an event for 400.”
“Four hundred? More like six. There’s so much food, I’m actually having it sent over in a van. Say, does Mr. Sheffield have a clue as to what’s going on this evening?”
“Of course not. He still thinks we’re checking out the competition. I can’t wait until we tell him. Can you imagine the look on his face?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, that’s if we tell him, remember. We only make the announcement if the show is well received.”
“Niles, you’re really uncertain, aren’t you? Trust me, we’ll be making the announcement.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
C.C. was right. Love! Valet! Compassion! was enormously well received by the audience. And if the scuttlebutt from inside sources was correct, it was just a slight matter of time before the play would be tagged a critical success. Once the newspaper reviews were published, its status as a smash hit would be official. They planned to wait until the hot-off-the-press copies arrived at the party, and C.C. would then introduce Niles as the author.
Niles and C.C. separated to make the party rounds. She worked the crowd as producer, and since they hadn’t yet revealed his identity as the playwright, he worked the crowd as the producer’s devoted husband. For Niles it was something of a “fly on the wall” opportunity to hear what people had to say about his work -- or as much of an opportunity as it could possibly be. Since he was widely known to the partygoers as C.C. Babcock’s husband, it was doubtful anyone would dare knock the play in front of him. Naturally, Niles was quite thrilled by the comments he overheard, which were mostly raves.
He was especially pleased with the reaction of the Sheffields. Fran was very sweet and kind, and knew just how he felt -- or so she imagined. “Aw, Niles, you look so thrilled. Isn’t it nice when your mate has a big success, and you feel such a part of it, too?”
“Truth be told, I couldn’t be happier if I’d written it myself.”
Maxwell meant well, but was a little less kind. “Funny you should say that, Niles. You know, the plot was vaguely similar to that dreadful thing you concocted. See what can happen when an author of real merit takes on a project. Now that’s how a play should be constructed!” He gave Niles’ chest a light slap with the back of his hand, and followed through with an afterthought. “But do you know what struck me as an odd coincidence?”
“I can’t imagine.” Niles’ delivery reached new heights in sardonic drollness.
“Even the title was somewhat similar to yours, wasn’t it?”
Niles nodded. “Somewhat similar indeed. So you thought the play was good?”
“Not merely ‘good,’ man. I thought it was superb!” Maxwell was quite emphatic.
“Very glad to hear it. And you say the author has merit?”
“He’s a genius! I can’t wait to meet this enigmatic fellow.”
“I can’t wait for you to meet him either, sir.” Niles couldn’t resist adding, “I dare say it will come as something of a surprise.”
“So, you’ve met him? Well, now you have me quite intrigued.” Maxwell motioned for Fran, who had wandered off in search of food. “C’mon, darling. Excuse us, Niles, but we need to track down your wife and offer formal congratulations.”
C.C. noticed Maxwell approaching with Fran on his arm. “C.C., what a surprise! Congratulations! I still find it hard to believe I didn’t hear about your ‘mystery’ project through the grapevine. How I completely overlooked it is beyond me.”
“Thank you, Maxwell. I really worked at keeping it secret.”
Fran chimed in. “Well, you certainly succeeded. And how you did that with Niles around is the real mystery.” Fran knew her friend’s capacity for keeping secrets wasn’t much better than her own.
C.C. countered. “I understand what you mean, but as I’ve learned, he can manage the most surprising things from time to time.”
“You’re no slacker in the surprise department yourself,” Maxwell remarked. “I want to thank you for crediting this to Sheffield-Babcock Productions. That was rather generous and quite unexpected.”
“I thought we could be the Lennon/McCartney of theatrical producers.” Maxwell looked at her blankly and she explained, “You know, share credit equally, no matter who’s actually responsible for the work. But there’s also a legitimate reason, Maxwell. Sheffield money is backing this production.”
“As my business manager, you saw fit to invest in this? I’m surprised! You know how I feel about that sort of risk.”
“Relax, it’s not your Sheffield money. Nigel wanted in.”
“Nigel?!” Maxwell was stunned.
Fran couldn’t resist teasing her husband. “Yeah, honey, it seems Nigel wants in to everything you overlook.”
“Fran, please!” Maxwell chided.
C.C. explained. “I happened to mention it to Nigel the last time he visited and he all but begged for the opportunity.” She tilted her head to one side. “You know, Maxwell, your brother has an excellent eye for spotting promising material.”
Maxwell’s first instinct was to fume, as that topic was increasingly becoming a sore spot. But to his credit, he tried to be a good sport. And why not? Sheffield-Babcock Productions had what looked to be another all-out hit on its hands. “Well, come to think of it, I don’t imagine anything Nigel does should surprise me. But tell me, C.C., just how did you manage to get your hands on this hot new playwright?”
When he phrased it that way, C.C. simply couldn’t resist. “Well, if you must know, I’m sleeping with him.”
“C.C.!” Maxwell was appalled.
Fran again stepped into the conversation. “Oh, Maxwell, she’s kidding. You are kidding, aren’t you, C.C.? You love Niles. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.” C.C. didn’t answer. “Miss Babcock, please tell me you’re joking!”
“Oh, Niles doesn’t mind. In fact, he gets quite a kick out of it.” She nudged Fran and provocatively elaborated. “And you should see the look on his face afterward.” With that C.C. sprouted a sly grin and walked away, leaving the Sheffields with their mouths agape. Since the reviews were expected to arrive at any moment, she decided now would be the perfect time to find Niles and make their announcement.
When Maxwell’s composure was regained, he turned to Fran. “You said they were just spirited, but I’m telling you it’s a perverse relationship. Honestly, what is he thinking? It’s simply not natural. He’s English, for heaven’s sake!”
“I didn’t call them ‘spirited,’ I said they were ‘frisky;’ but other than that, honey, I’m beginning to agree with you on this one.” Fran took a sip of her drink. As she peered beyond the rim of her glass she noticed a commotion off to one corner. “Hey, the reviews are in -- here come the newspapers. And what is C.C. doing? Uh oh, if my lip-reading skills are correct, it looks like she’s going to introduce the author.”
“Fran, I don’t think I can bear to watch. Let’s get out of here.”
“We have to stay, it’s her big moment. Anyway, Niles might need us.” Fran caught a glimpse of the “mysterious” playwright. “Oh, look, I don’t believe it! Wow, would you take a look at that kiss she’s planting on him! Quick, sweetie, turn around!”
“No, I don’t want to see.” Maxwell cringed. “How is Niles taking it?”
“Very well, from the look of things.”
“What is wrong with that man? How can he be so casual about it?”
“Really, honey, see for yourself. Now I understand why she’s sleeping with him.”
“Fran, honestly! What a thing to say!”
“Relax, sweetie, it’s Niles.”
“What? I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
She threw her hands forward to explain. “Niles is the author!”
Not quite believing her words, he reluctantly pivoted and saw, to his absolute amazement, Niles basking in the ovation accorded the playwright. A stunned Maxwell joined in the applause.
A short time later, C.C. and Niles approached the Sheffields.
“I had you going, didn’t I, Maxwell?”
“Nonsense, C.C., I knew you were teasing. Why, I’d recognize that audacious humor anywhere.” His relief was a little too obvious, but no one cared to challenge his claim. Maxwell turned his attention to Niles, speaking in a very confidential tone. “About my reaction to your play, here’s the thing, Niles...”
Fran interrupted. Her tone was not at all confidential. “Oh, watch out, Niles. He’s throwing a ‘thing’ your way. This could take years to resolve.” She waved a finger for emphasis. “Just make sure he doesn’t have the opportunity to take it back.”
“Fran, darling, now that you’ve got that out of the way, I’ll continue.” He again focused his attention on the man of the hour. “Niles, I hate to admit it, but I might have turned a blind eye to your talent as a writer simply because your skills as a butler are so outstanding. What I saw onstage tonight was absolutely brilliant! I don’t understand how I could have overlooked it.” He leaned in closer to explain. “That just isn’t like me.”
Niles looked over Maxwell’s head to catch C.C.’s reaction. It was an eye roll worthy of the ages.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
As the party was winding down C.C. sauntered up to her husband and took gentle hold of his lapels. “So, now that you’re a playwright with all these wonderful notices, I guess you’ll be giving Maxwell your notice as his butler.”
“Well, I’m not certain.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his hands at the small of her back.
“What?!” His reaction surprised her, to say the least.
“I primarily wanted to be an author because my life seemed at such a dead end, but it’s all so different now. I rather like the little world we’ve created for ourselves, and I don’t really wish to make any drastic changes at the moment.”
The competitive businesswoman in her took over. “But Niles, this is your big opportunity. You’ll be approached by scores of producers, all begging for a new work, and, just think, I’ll have a decided advantage over every one of them.”
“Yes, you’d have first dibs, hands down. But as for any new projects, let’s just take it one a day at a time, shall we, love? Aren’t you happy with our life?”
Much to her surprise, her instincts as wife and mother prevailed. “I’m ecstatic with our life, you know that. I just thought this was something you always wanted.”
“It was. And with your help, I’ve done it, and maybe I’ll try it again some day. But for the time being, let’s keep things as they are. C.C., you’ve given me everything I ever wanted. Certainly the opportunity to do something grand like tonight, but most importantly, you’ve given me our family. And I don’t want anything to disrupt that.”
“Niles, I don’t know what to say. I don’t expect you to be serious and sweet. It’s too surreal.” Resting her head on his shoulder, she was on the verge of tears.
Oh, he was so going to enjoy the rest of the night!
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Niles stepped into their bedroom, only to find his wife reading. “Haven’t you seen enough reviews for one night? You’ve already looked through an enormous stack of newspapers. Must you bother with one more paper now?” He crawled in bed beside her.
“This is different. It isn’t just another newspaper, it’s an advance copy. The public won’t see it until it hits the newsstands later this week.”
“How impressive. I hope you didn’t do anything too unsavory to acquire it.”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘unsavory.’ I took advantage of your talents as a gourmet. I bribed the columnist with a few items from the feast you made for Sylvia. It really didn’t take much, he caved far too easily.”
“I’m surprised.”
“That I would bribe someone? That really shouldn’t come as a shock to you.”
“No, I’m surprised by the fact Sylvia left food in her aftermath.”
“Oh, Niles, you’re slipping. I sent the food basket before Sylvia got hold of the feast you prepared.”
He nodded. “Now I understand. Well, I’m just glad to hear you didn’t use your feminine wiles on an unsuspecting reporter.”
She thought a bit about how he’d phrased his comment,“‘Unsuspecting.’ How do you mean?”
“As in ‘the poor sod didn’t realize you’re actually a man’ unsuspecting.”
She began to laugh.
“Find that amusing, do you?” he inquired.
“No, I was just thinking, if I really were a man, it would probably work to your advantage. The fact you have a ‘same sex partner’ would only add legitimacy to your credentials as a playwright.”
“Touché.”
“Ooh, Niles, a fencing term. Will ‘thrust’ be entering the conversation anytime soon?”
“It’s coming up now. If you weren’t so consumed with that paper of yours, I could whet the sword and begin thrusting straightaway.” He gently tugged at her paper and noticed for the first time exactly what she was reading. “C.C., I’m disappointed. You’re reading one of those awful rags.”
“I always do after an opening.” She sheepishly explained, “You know, to get the full media overview. I just wanted to see what they had to say about us in the tabloids.”
“How revolting.” He thought a moment, “What does it say?”
“They called you an ‘aging houseboy-turned Lothario-turned playwright.’”
“It doesn’t say that,” he grabbed the paper. “My God, it does say that!”
“Here.” She slapped a paper against his belly and he let out a shocked gasp. “Here’s the real article. I had that one printed just for you. Can you be more naive? Geez, you should have seen the look on your face.”
“Well, no one likes to be made sport of in the tabloids.”
She objected. “That’s not true. You love it when I make sport anywhere near your tabloids.”
“Well, yes.” He nodded his head and flashed a sly little grin. “But that’s different.”
“Let’s make some sport with your tabloids right now.”
“I don’t know. They’ve had a bit of a shock and are quite sensitive at the moment. My fellas don’t like to think of themselves as the subject of public ridicule. Might take some special effort on your part.”
“I can handle that.” And she proceeded to prove her point.
“Oh, lord,” he moaned, “Can you ever!”
The End
This particular use of the word “tabloids” was taken from the 1934 film The Thin Man.
I enjoy the romantic comedies of the 1930s and 40s, and I get the sense
the characters of Niles and C.C. would fit into the films of that era rather nicely.
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