OK, how many times have we read the standard disclaimer? None of them belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for a couple of hours to make my little version of what might have happened after the finale. Any feedback, good or bad, is greatly appreciated. Mostly, though...enjoy!

"Sweet Lorelei"

by

Abbey
(AngeIFF7@aol.com)

C.C. sped down Fifth Avenue, already fifteen minutes late for her doctor’s appointment. She was heading down to see Dr. Reynolds -- the very same doctor who had helped Fran through her pregnancy. And C.C. was very pregnant.

With a screech, her BMW pulled into the closest parking space she could find to the office and she waddled miserably up the stairs to meet her obstetrician. She thought unhappily about the size 4 haute couture that hung in her closet at home and then about the maternity clothes she had been resigned to for the past four months. She was convinced that she looked like a blimp and nobody, not even Niles, could tell her otherwise.

“Greetings, C.C.!” Dr. Reynolds smiled at her. C.C. privately couldn’t stand the overly cheery woman and her quirky examination rooms. She had to admit, though, Dr. Reynolds did a good job. C.C. plastered on a fake grin and told Dr. Reynolds hello.

“Let me take you to our newest examination room. I like to call it ‘Southern Fantasia’,” said Dr. Reynolds as she escorted C.C. into the room that had formerly been ‘Ribbons and Lace’. C.C. gaped as she looked around in the room. It looked just like the interior of Tara from “Gone With the Wind”. From the green velvet curtains to the pretend radish patch in the corner, the room seemed to be the home of Scarlett O’Hara herself. As C.C. sat down on a plush examination table, she first eyed Dr. Reynolds’ instruments in an engraved jewelry box and then the huge bottle of liquor on the counter.

“Maybe that’s why she’s so happy all the time,” thought C.C. to herself.

“So how have we been feeling lately?” asked Dr. Reynolds, eyeing C.C. with mild concern. She noted that her eyes had dark circles underneath them and her hair seemed mussed.

C.C. groaned. “Apart from the backaches, the nausea, and the constant vomiting, I’m just peachy. How that kid is getting any food, I don’t know. I can’t keep enough down to feed me!”

Dr. Reynolds laughed. “Morning sickness is common in pregnant women, especially ones over forty.”

C.C.’s eyebrow shot up a little. Her age tended to be a sore spot with her.

“Morning sickness I’ve heard of. It’s just the mid-morning, afternoon, early evening, and night sickness that seems a little out of the ordinary,” she said. “By the way, since I’m here, can you do an ultrasound or anything? I’d really like to know if I’m going to have a boy or a girl.”

Dr. Reynolds laughed, “We don’t need an ultrasound to tell us that! Just take a look at your backside, dear! With a rump like that, you’re definitely carrying a girl!”

C.C.’s eyebrow hovered somewhere near her hairline. She choked off a nasty insult and instead said “Thank you” through gritted teeth.

Dr. Reynolds sensed that she had made a bit of a misstep and changed the subject. “Have you thought of any names for the baby?” she asked as she offered C.C. a cookie shaped like Tara itself. C.C. reached out to grab one, but drew back her hand as she thought about the size of her rear end. “Well, for a boy we were going to name him Michael Alexander. We haven’t really decided for a girl yet, though. Niles wants her middle name to be Claire, after mine. None of the first names we come up with seem to fit.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll come. Listen to the radio, look around, ask your friends. Did Fran have any ideas?” Dr. Reynolds inquired.

“Oh, good Lord, Nanny Fi--Mrs. Sheffield-- is NOT going to name my baby. Any woman who considers patent leather an integral part of her wardrobe is not going to have a say in ANYTHING of my first-born child’s. Or my second. Or, in fact, my third.” C.C. sneered.

“Oh, give Fran a little credit. She really does have a good heart.” Dr. Reynolds said gently.

C.C. sighed.

“Well,” said Dr. Reynolds briskly, “our time’s about up. Are you sure you don’t want a cookie?”

“Oh, what the hell,” said C.C. as she grabbed a mini mansion from the tray and headed out of the room.

On the way back to the Sheffield’s, C.C. racked her brain to find a perfect name for her baby girl. She decided to take her batty doctor’s advice and turned on the radio.

She scanned through the channels, and finally settled on one of New York’s best Top 40 stations. The station proclaimed that it “served up the best hits of the seventies, eighties, and today!” C.C. figured she could at least find a start there.

C.C. listened for the whole rest of the ride home. She drove slowly enough to get a few good songs in, but not so slowly that the irate drivers of New York started honking and yelling at her to speed up.

The first couple of songs she heard were useless. The first song on the radio was about a man, and as for the second -- well, there was no way she was naming her daughter Sharona. She was about to pull up to the Sheffield’s when she heard a few errant, but interesting, chords at the start of a new song. The announcer had called the song “When Mermaids Cry”. She listened in a little more intently. At least mermaids were female. She had a good chance.

C.C. ended up circling the block four times as she listened to the song. She gathered from the lyrics that a man (presumably the singer) had neglected his lover so much that she ended up drowning herself. He would forever search the ocean for her, because he believed that she had become a mermaid. Someday, he would find his Lorelei and apologize to her...but until then, his tears would never dry.

“What a lovely song...what a lovely name.” C.C. decided then and there that the name of her baby girl would be Lorelei. It seemed to her a rash decision...after so many months of trying to come up with the perfect name, she was going to decide the name of her child by a song she had only heard once. Still, she felt like it was right.

She jumped out of her car and ran inside (as best as she could). She found Niles and told him about everything -- the appointment, the song, and most importantly the name. She waited eagerly for his response.

“Well...I think Lorelei is a beautiful name. And your rear end is not big...ger than it was.”

Niles saw the delighted grin on his wife’s face. She kissed him and ran off to tell everyone that she had found the perfect name for her daughter.

Fran walked in and looked at Niles. “Radio station, huh? After all that kvetching for four straight months that she hasn’t been able to come up with the perfect name, and all she needed was three minutes with the Top 40? Oy!” cried an exasperated Fran.

Niles nodded. “Well, at least she’s happy. I swear, I thought she was going off her cauldron for a long time there. Do you have ANY idea how many baby books we’ve gone through trying to find a suitable name? Thank God I suggested using Claire for the middle name, or this might have been only half over.”

Fran nodded at Niles. “Just a thought though...if she ever gets pregnant with a boy, you might want to keep her away from songs like ‘John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt’.”

Niles laughed. “Or the Beverly Hillbillies theme. I don’t want to end up with a son named Jed.”

Meanwhile, C.C. ran through the house, telling everyone she found about her new baby’s name. “Maxwell! Margie! Brr...Bradley! Uhm...G -- Gl -- Short one!! I found a name!!”

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