by
Aimee
(aimeed@earthlink.net)
C.C. rocked her seven-month-old daughter back and forth, humming old Broadway show tunes. If the occasional Andrew Lloyd Webber ditty found its way into her repertoire, well, Maxwell wasn't home to hear it. He was meeting with the set designers for the sitcom. Filming was to begin in a few days, and C.C. was enjoying the last few hours of peace she'd have for several weeks.
Her husband appeared in the door of the nursery. "I heard you singing Phantom of the Opera," he said sternly. "You know, if I were a good butler, I'd tell Mr. Sheffield about it right away."
"Oh, no, not that! What do I have to do to keep you quiet?" she asked in mock terror.
Niles put his hands over his daughter's ears and whispered something to C.C.. She shivered at the feel of his warm breath on her ear, and looked up at him with a wicked smile. "Niles! I never knew you were into that sort of thing."
"Neither did I until I thought about doing it with you. So what about it, wench, do you give in to my wicked desires tonight or do I let Mr. Sheffield lecture you for two solid hours about Sheffield Babcock solidarity?"
Morgan gurgled. Suddenly C.C. grimaced. "I don't think our daughter is a huge Andrew Lloyd Webber fan either. Here, you take her, I'm wearing silk." C.C. kissed her daughter on the cheek and her husband on that sensitive spot on the back of his neck and escaped the nursery. Lullabies she could do. Stories she could do. Bathing and dressing and feeding she could do. Number two she did not do.
Niles groaned at C.C.'s nimble escape from domestic duty. So as he changed his daughter, he started cooing, "Say Mummy's name. Say Caca. Caca, Caca, Caca. Good lord, Morgie, maybe we should have named you Caca. You certainly have a gift in that area. Whew!"
"Ooghmbble," Morgan replied, her blue eyes large and wise.
"Don't worry, love, the insults will come. You're still a bit young for repartee." Niles deftly buttoned Morgan into a lavender jumper with a bunny on it. "Shall we have socks, or is it too hot for socks?" He dangled a white sock trimmed in lavender lace and a satin bow over Morgan's nose. She batted at it, giggling. Niles let her grab it and fling it aside. "Okay, no socks. Let's go find Mommy. She's probably waiting around the corner. 'Butler Boy do this. Butler Boy do that. Butler Boy make me some tea. Butler Boy stop teasing the baby. Butler Boy stay up all night doing things that Morgan's too young to know about and then be expected to keep my mind on work all day when she's two rooms away in the office thinking about the same things I am but she's too busy with her sodding sitcom to come to Home Depot with me to visit the aluminum sheds, so she makes me wait until after dinner."
Two floors below him in the office, C.C. reclined on the sofa smiling dreamily, her paperwork forgotten. Niles' suggestion for that evening was a truly original one in her experience, and she was looking forward to it immensely. "Well, well," she thought. "So married life really doesn't have to be boring. Niles certainly keeps things interesting." It wasn't in either of their natures to say "the three little words" very often, but then they didn't need to. For years, every insult that passed between then had been a silent "I love you." They had also developed some little rituals to try and show each other every day in small ways. One of those was constant sensual inventiveness. Another was an endless parade of little gifts that passed between them. A perennial favorite, of course, was the affectionate insults. But most often, a simple look was enough to say more than words ever could. Two people who'd been alone all their lives might not say the words as often as they should, but they had a lifetime of love and only each other and their infant princess to lavish it on.
C.C. sighed. She felt guilty about avoiding one of motherhood's more aromatic duties. Wait. No. That wasn't guilt. She was just hungry.
She found Niles in the kitchen introducing Morgan to the joys of peanut butter ice cream. Morgan obediently opened her tiny mouth and ate.
"I wish she'd eat her vegetables that well," C.C. said wryly. "Last time I tried to get her to eat carrots and peas, I ended up with an orange and green tie-dyed Bob Mackie evening gown."
"I know. That's why I let you feed her the vegetables."
C.C. slapped his arm. "Tell Daddy he's a worthless servant, sweetie."
"Bubbler Boyf," said Morgan.
Niles rolled his eyes. "Tell Mama she's a -- "
"Wait!" C.C. put her hand on his arm. "Say it again, darling. Come on. I know you can."
"What?" Niles demanded. "What did she say?"
C.C. coaxed patiently, "Tell Daddy he's a worthless servant."
"Bubbler Boy," gurgled Morgan.
Niles and C.C. stared at each other. "She did it!" C.C. shrieked. "She said something!"
"No," howled Niles. "Morgan, don't do this to Daddy!"
Morgan giggled and repeated herself.
C.C. clasped her hands together, tears shining in her eyes. "Oh, Niles! She called you Butler Boy!"
Niles dropped his head on his wife's shoulder and pretended to burst into tears.
"Go get the video camera," ordered C.C..
"Right." Niles took off running.
Just then, Fran Sheffield burst into the kitchen. "Hey, C.C., want to take the kids to the park? They're having a Speedo fashion shoot!"
"Listen to this!" C.C. cried in excitement, just as Niles returned. "Say it, Morgan. Say Butler Boy. Butler Boy, Butler Boy, Butler Boy." Niles focussed the video camera on the baby.
"Caca," Morgan replied proudly.
The End
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