Warnings: Todd snark. LOL
Spoilers: Through GH episode aired Apr. 10 or so, 2013. AU.
Disclaimer: If I ever created even one character half as iconic as Todd Manning, I'd die a happy woman. I'm just playing with the pretty, so not to sue please.
Notes: I can't be the only one who wanted to know what Todd would think of the Nurses Ball. Title is from "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen and Tavish Crowe from Kiss, 2011-2012. Also, that damn song really is stuck in my head now.
"Mr. Manning?"
The voice was soft with a timid air to it that set Todd's teeth on edge. It was annoying enough working in a different setting without access to the staff he was at least somewhat used to in Port Charles. It's not like he'd expected all his former Llanview employees to be sitting around waiting for him to come back, but then it wasn't like he'd fired them all either. Some he'd let telecommute, and it had been working out fine until..., but then he wasn't going to think about that right now.
This little thing probably wouldn't have lasted a day once he'd found that one temp. agency that somehow produced prospective assistants out of thin air in a seemingly endless supply, well, except for that one time when the nurse had shown up, but then the agency hadn't sent her. She'd turned out to be quite the feisty one too in contrast to her mousy appearance: all that big hair and the huge glasses on her small and obviously perfectly symmetrical features. If ever there was a stereotypical "before" picture for a Cinderella makeover, she was it. The only thing that would have telegraphed it more is if she was actually a librarian by profession. What was her name again? Katrina? Sabine?
"What, Bonita? Can't you see I'm busy? Newspapers don't publish themselves you know."
Todd was this close to winning his hand of computer Solitaire, and Bonita here had to come in all tippy-toeing and whispering like he was going to throw something at her head. There was no way he would do such a thing. Her coffee was perfect, not a whiff of hazelnut for miles.
"It's Anita, sir."
"Fine. Anita it is. How may I assist you in further interrupting me and keeping me from my extremely vital and important work?"
"You asked me to keep you informed about the TV feed for that event in New York, the charity?"
"Well, did I or didn't I? Are you asking me, or do you have some definitive information for me finally?"
Poor Bonita. As long as he needed distracting from the fact that the only reason he wanted the television feed she was mumbling about was so he could catch a glimpse of Carly, which was the thing he was trying not to think about, she was going to have to add sarcasm sponge to her job description. If she'd just tell him to go screw himself, just once, he'd let up, but most people didn't. Then again, life wasn't fair, was it? Best Bonita learn it while she was still young enough to grow a nice, hard cynical shell. She'd need it whether she continued to work for him or not, so he was just doing her a favor.
"I do. The feed goes live at 6:00 pm over cable channel 47 in Port Charles, but your feed will come straight off the satellite over channel double zero on your flat screen, or you can get it on your laptop, or both if you like."
"I knew owning that cable network would end up being a win, Jerry Jax notwithstanding."
"Who, sir?"
"You don't actually follow the news, do you, Bonita? Never mind. Both. I say both. Make it happen."
"I'll send you an e-mail with the link to get it on your laptop."
"See that you do. Goodbye, Bonita."
Todd turned his eyes back to the laptop monitor to resume his game, but then he sensed rather than saw that she wasn't moving.
"Yeeeees, Bonita. Is there something else?"
"I confirmed the delivery of your FedEx envelope. Lucy Coe signed for it herself."
If he wasn't mistaken, Bonita was looking a little dreamy-eyed and star-struck.
"So, Lucy Coe you've heard of? A hard news buff then. My mistake."
"What? No, I—"
"You do know she tried to murder a perfectly horrible policeman because she believed him to be a blood-sucking vampire when all he ever really was was a grinding pain in my, uh, backside?"
"Yes, sir. I believe it was a misunderstanding."
Todd laughed aloud.
"A misunderstanding? Incompetence. It was incompetence. If the woman couldn't even find McBain's heart with a table leg, who would let her be in charge of an unsuspecting charity drive? Well, I'm not being fair."
"Lucy Coe has been part of running The Nurses Ball at GeneralHospital for years and years."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"You said you were being unfair—"
"Having nothing to do with her general level of incompetence. I was referring to there being no medical evidence that John McBain even has a heart. Just ask my niece Natalie."
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't follow."
"You're better off, Bonita. The world is overfull of followers."
"Sir?"
Todd felt his eyes glaze over and his mouth stretch into a straight line as he inhaled hard through his nose, his chest expanding visibly. When he spoke again, it was slowly.
"You can leave now, Bonita."
She actually beamed at him.
"Thank you, sir."
Todd watched her stride briskly towards the exit door of his office. Just as she set one foot over the threshold, he intervened, his gaze dropping once more to the interrupted game on his monitor to regain his place.
"Oh, Bonita?"
A very fuzzy, very unsuspecting blob hovered at the outer reaches of his peripheral vision. The blurry image stopped in its tracks and then slowly turned as his eyes continued to scan the screen.
"Yes, sir?"
"Context and specificity. Communication is impossible without it. If you're going to work in publishing, it's crucial you understand that."
"I'm sure you're right, Mr. Manning."
"I am right, Bonita, and I'll even demonstrate. You do know I meant, 'leave my office', not 'leave the building', right? I need you here to make sure there aren't any technical problems getting the feed up and running. Once that's done, you can go purchase another tub of Lucy Coe cosmetics or whatever it is you do on your own time."
The blob's shoulders drooped.
"Of course, sir."
"Oh, and order my usual from the Thai place before you go. Extra rice noodles."
"Yes, Mr. Manning."
This time he let her get all the way through the office door before raising his voice to make sure it followed her out to her desk.
"You can order some dinner too if you like. My tab."
If she said anything after that, he wasn't paying attention.
It was strange seeing a place he'd only recently called home up on the large screen hung on the wall opposite his desk. The Metro Court was nice and all, but he'd never noticed the specifics, really, despite his lecture to Bonita. The first sight that had met his eyes when he'd strolled into the place last year had been tall and elegant and crowned with a magnificent mop of blonde hair that went so well with the blue eyes and that smile. How could he have paid a second's worth of notice to the lobby décor once he saw Carly?
Now there was a bit less length to the hair, but now he also knew every curve of her lips and of her body, knew them both intimately, the really specific meaning of that word. She was just so alive, so direct in her gaze, even when she was putting on that show with Michael's biological father to try to push him away, but a thrill went up his spine at the memory of her eyes blazing back at him while he'd pressed himself inside her, having finally gotten as close to her as he'd wanted to for so long.
It wasn't over between them, no matter what she said, and no matter that this other part of his life, another part that had been kept away and apart from him shrouded in secrecy and lies, had needed his attention. That simply wasn't going to be their only night like that, their naked skin seared together in sweat and the magnetism and electricity built up and released from having wanted each other all those months, having come so close to discharging it on Halloween, but then letting the voltage continue to build and build until, well, it wasn't just a release of tension. It was more than that, and that was exactly what Carly was scared to death of, and why shouldn't she be? Why shouldn't they both be?
At the last minute, Todd had decided to keep the card game up on his computer and have the satellite feed appear only on the TV screen. He was too keyed up to just sit there watching. He needed something else to do while he waited, and, at last, there she was on the red carpet, utterly stunning in another silvery, sparkly number not that different from the one she'd worn on New Year's Eve, the one that had looked even better pooled around her high heels on the floor as she'd stepped out of it and he'd pulled her against him, his fingers brushing over her ribs as, just for a second, she'd teetered a little before he'd secured her body against his own.
"Oh how the mighty have fallen. Literally, if we're going by height differential between him and me. Sonny? Really? And hinting you might be together again as if anybody would believe you at this point? Seriously, Carly, how very kind of you to take pity on the mini-mobster while his girlfriend, girlfriends, I don't even know any more, and I bet he doesn't either, are back off to the funny farm. Expect a little update on that story any day now, Sonny, as soon as my sources down on that particular farm verify everything.
Sorry, Starr, but then Sonny isn't Michael's real father anyway, and I know you don't have any use for that Con-Katenation of a woman. Well, technically, I guess she's in the bin to get better concatenated, but it's close enough for a really brilliant pun, if I do say so myself, and I do. Serves Connie right for plastering my face all over the front page of my own paper while I was indisposed. And putting her own loony mug on the masthead? She was totally asking for it. At least Viki and Jessie are good people when they're in charge. Can't say the same for Kate or Connie, not to mention her horrible taste in men. Payback isn't always a bitch. Sometimes it's a bastard."
Todd smirked with glee, savoring the anticipation of coming up with a truly withering headline for the story, and looked away from the screen long enough to scoop a mass of rice noodles onto his chopsticks and aim them at his mouth, having already opened the box with the chicken, vegetables, and sauce to chase the noodles with immediately after getting most of the former past his lips, a few danglers disregarded as a tiny figure in some kind of red circus costume came strolling up to Carly and Sonny, a lot of shiny brown hair and a rather lovely face visible above the hideous drapery. Carly looked none too pleased to see the woman, but he wouldn't say the same for Sonny, not that he gave a rat's ass.
"Who's this then? She looks really familiar. That's that Brenda something or other, the model. Jesus, Sonny, how many more of your exes are coming to this thing? You could sponsor your own softball team of your exes for the hospital, not that you'd want any of them having bats or spherical objects to pelt you with. So tiny. Figures Sonny would date the shortest super-model in recorded history. What'd she model anyway? Opera wear for five year olds? I bet the two of you didn't go to Disney World to celebrate any of your organized crimes. Neither one of you could reach Mickey's ears or whatever they use to measure the minimum height to go on the rides."
Todd giggled and then grinned before tilting his head back to take a refreshing gulp of beer. Nothing better with Thai food and smart-assery. This was fun, except for the part where he'd still rather be the one standing there sneering down at little Brenda and Sonny in solidarity with Carly. And so he took in another large gulp of beer and another mouth full of noodles and sauce.
"There's only one adult shorty, well she thinks she is, that's the exception to the rule of you two little punks, and that's my Shorty, and Michael is only remotely worthy of her because he's your son, Carly, and I'm still not completely convinced. We'll just see. We'll just see."
As the evening wore on Todd got in several more rounds of Solitaire because there was only so much sweetness and light he could handle without losing his dinner. Speaking of which, at one point he was almost certain he caught a glimpse of a dinner roll shaped object bouncing off the top of Carly's lovely head that, based on the angle, could have only originated from that teensy little Brenda person.
It wasn't like he was getting drunk. He'd only had three beers, and the next thing that had happened was Carly leaping to her feet, and he could have sworn she was holding a piece of bread too. At that point, the director must have called for a different shot because they went back to Lucy Coe in her umpteenth skin-melding-tight ball gown, not that she didn't have a totally hot body. She did, but that was the Doc, her husband's, consolation prize for putting up with her crazy the rest of the time. Maybe it was worth it, maybe not. She was no Carly though.
During one particularly-sappy ballad Todd rolled his eyes and hit the mute button and then used the opportunity to check his e-mails. When he looked up again, the crooner had an unmistakable little box in his hand offering the contents to a blonde woman Todd vaguely recognized from The Floating Rib. The woman looked more like somebody had just announced to the audience that they had proof her boobs were fake than that she was overcome with the overtly romantic gesture and about to squeal an affirmative.
"This won't end well. Public proposals are only slightly less painful than public hangings. Where's the mercy edit? I know how you feel, aging hipster, but I've learned my lesson. I bet you have too now that it's too late. Loser."
And then Lucy didn't show up for one of the introductions, her own number even, so Todd thought maybe that was why the pretty nurse was filling in for her emceeing. But then the funny-talking police commissioner filled in for her in the tango too, and it was nice enough. The commish. was probably a better dancer than Lucy anyway, not that Todd really had any idea. He just knew that Lucy had been supposed to be performing.
"See, I told you, incompetent!"
It got old being right so much of the time, especially about the world of incompetence he saw around himself daily, and even more so when he was reduced to gloating over it all by himself. But now at least he was distracted by the mystery of Lucy's absence. There was the nurse again, not the one that had come to his office to cajole him, with her earnest little face all perky and eager behind the spectacles and her arm-linking and her album full of photos of past Nurses Balls, into maybe sponsoring the whole thing, a gesture that he couldn't afford at that point, and what the hell was her name? It was Spanish, he was almost sure of it, her last name anyway, but now what was that pretty other nurse going on about, something to do with getting a good seat for the next number?
"Okay then. Dazzle me. Uh oh, that's Rick James stripper music, and further, and, so very much more uh oh, that's a guy. That's one of Sonny's guys, the leaner beefy one, and there's the pork loin. Eew, never mind. Incredibly poor choice of phrase, although it's a nice cut with the right wine. Moving on. Ha, it's Spicoli the P.I. who thought he was too good to work for me. I'd kick your ass in Scrabble, dweeb. Oh, hey there, Felix, you devil, I shoulda known you'd be in this number. And random brown-haired muscley guy and, holy shit, it's Michael. I sure hope Starr isn't watching this."
At the end of the day, Todd had to admit the number was well-choreographed and executed, especially for a bunch of amateurs, but just when he had both hands over his eyes, peeking only ever-so-slightly through the eensy crack he'd left between his right middle and ring fingers just in case the manly-flesh-crazed society matrons and debutantes and elite of the female medical community of Port Charles succeeded in their whistling and stomping and caterwauling for the hilariously-undecided guys on the stage to flash them a few more inches of man meat, something far better happened.
There was Lucy in pink underpants and some matching pink strapless bra thingy cat-fighting with the queeniest dude with the tightest perm. or possibly natural afro that Todd had ever seen erupting out onto the stage, and it wasn't part of the act! No sooner had the men of the audience subsided in their own whistling and applause for Lucy's lingerie show than the ensemble of strippers was carrying off Lucy's attacker over their heads like he was Cleopatra on her royal litter as he alternated further threats against Lucy with imperially greeting members of the audience on his queenly way out of the ballroom.
Todd stifled a guffaw as he snatched up his phone.
"It's me. Get somebody on this guy getting bum-rushed out of the Nurses Ball by the male strippers. If there's time and it's juicy enough, we may need to re-do tomorrow's front page and headline. Otherwise, we'll put it in the Celebrity Gossip section. Get back to me tonight."
Next, Lucy came skittering back out onto the stage in another get-up so tight that you could definitively count the freckles on her entire torso from seeing them just that clearly through the sheer purple fabric so that the dress ended up being almost more revealing than her actual underwear from earlier.
"I swear, Doc, that body's so tight you could bounce quarters off everything, not just the ass. No wonder you came back to talk her down from Sunnydale High. Buffy's a lot better with weapons though and snarkier, not that Lucy isn't funny in her own way, except does it really count if it's not on purpose?"
Todd shrugged and Googled "Sarah Michelle Gellar."
"Hmmmm. Too bad about Ringer. Mazel tov on the second kid. Still lookin' good."
The unmistakable strains of an 80's pop hit began to blare from the TV. Todd barely glanced up as he clicked from link to link catching up on the doings of the various former cast members of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, occasionally mouthing the words of the song from memory until the chorus arrived and to which he made one significant alteration, an image of Carly glimmering across his brain, that face of hers grinning at him indulgently as she turned to walk away down the hallway outside his suite door on Halloween after her non-answer had been all the answer he needed to that one last thing he had to ask her.
"I wish I had Jason's girl. Ba-da-da-da-da-dah. Eesh, that's pretty morbid even for me. Rest in peace, Carly's favorite hit man. May the fishes be kind on your extended swim-by."
Once he was satisfied that Alexis Denisof and Alyson Hannigan were a pretty solid couple, coincidentally also the parents of two kids, both girls, on the subject of which he muttered, "Good luck with that," the Nurses Ball doings recaptured his attention when two figures, one adult and one impossibly adorable little angel, both with long dark hair and clad in pink, appeared on the stage and began performing their version of a recent hit pop song.
"God, what an ear worm. I'm gonna wake up hearing that damn tune in my head, and it'll stick with me like a bad cold all day, I just know it. Sabrina! That's it, and she's gone full-monty Cinderella. How very predictable. Sandiego, no, that's Carmen. Santiago, got it. How deadly cute are those two? "
Despite his game effort at retaining his edge, Todd didn't kid himself that little Emma Drake was anything but the antidote to all flavors of satire and cynicism. Any heart that wasn't melted by that face was petrified or didn't exist in the first place, especially one like his with a full catalogue of memories of, in his opinion, an even more adorable little face only with blonde hair and blue eyes. When they cut to the inevitable proud Papa shot and, in this case, Grandma too, the funny-talking commish. having also been shown dabbing her eyes, Todd read something else from the gazes exchanged between performers and their fondest admirers.
"Oh and Cinderella has already picked out her Prince Charming I see."
Todd did another search on his laptop and quickly read up on the connections between Dr. Patrick Drake and Anna Devane and the main honoree of the whole extravaganza, the late and much lamented Dr. Robin Scorpio Drake.
"Well, it looks like little Emma adores Sabrina too, so maybe this Cinderella gets something better than a prince out of the ball. Good for you, Sabrina, and, especially you, Emma. It's not getting your mother back, but still pretty good hopefully."
Having succumbed at some unknown point after the twirling and innocent bed-jumping of those two brunette charmers to the equally-irresistible effects of his carbo-licious dinner, Todd opened his eyes to a much closer than desirable view of the top of his desk and a buzzing sound right next to his ear that made Bonita's unrelentingly-interrogatory mode seem like a choir of angels. He fumbled for the offending object and silenced it with a touch as he struggled into an upright position again, shaking his head and blinking rapidly to speed the process of banishing drowsiness.
"What?"
The voice on the phone was saying something about a bigger scandal at the ball than any petty grievances from a bedazzled male diva, but Todd was already mesmerized by the expression and posture of the same little figure he'd melted for earlier.
"Shut up for a minute. I'm watching now."
Even as the woman on the stage made her announcement and Dr. Drake recoiled from it, the only face Todd could see was Emma's. The child clearly knew the interloper, and none of it was good. He was grateful when Sabrina hurried out and took up a defensive posture on the unguarded side of the child who was cowering against her father's pants leg.
An exceedingly-unpleasant warmth originated somewhere behind his face and washed down Todd's body, and he recognized its meaning instantaneously. It was shame, shame at all the times he'd had his reporters dog people in similar circumstances, had himself mirthfully composed any number of alliterative and witty and cruelly cutting headlines about baby bumps and the fall-out that some of them left in their path when some party or parties to the unintended consequences of an ill-fated moment of passion were merely fodder for his best-selling issue of the year. The worst part was that he knew he hadn't written his last such headline. This one though, this one wasn't appearing on any of his front pages.
"Lead with the goofy diva. Here's your headline: 'Simmons Sails Sea of Salty Strippers.' Sub-header: 'Nurses Do Have the Biggest and Best Balls.' Bury this other thing. Put it with the 'continues on page whatever,' and tread lightly, or it's your ass. That's it."
Todd ended the call and silently watched the much-more-fitting ending tribute song to the late Dr. Scorpio Drake and her legacy. The handsome prince had no doubt temporarily recovered as best he could, and he even had a nice voice. More importantly, Emma looked like she'd be okay, and Todd fervently hoped it was true.
And even though she'd disappeared from the ball at some point early on after the flying bread incident, Todd couldn't help the germination of another wish that he sometimes believed he'd even trade his soul for if she'd just let it bloom. One more chance was all he needed. If only Carly would grant it to him, that wish might be the last one he'd ever make. Who was he kidding? But still, she already had a good portion of his heart, so there was that.
The magnificent, if currently magnificently-exhausted, Lucy Coe opened her eyes that she was only resting for a moment, a picture of fatigued befuddlement. Only a second ago she'd been unable to reconcile the presence of a breeze with the indoor setting, but there was Felix waggling a FedEx envelope at her roguishly.
"Don't forget this one."
He produced a check from the interior.
"Wow. Nice round number. Really nice. Celestial Bodies, Inc. Never heard of 'em."
Lucy raised an eyebrow.
"It's probably a shell company. As long as the check clears that's all that matters in my book."
"Mine too, girl. I mean, Ms. Coe."
"Lucy is fine."
"Yes, you are."
Lucy beamed indulgently even as she shook her head in feigned reproof. Felix continued to examine the strip of paper.
"Huh. It's in memoriam, but that's no help either. Just says, 'In memory of Bitsy.' Oh well, seems like whoever's behind 'Celestial Bodies, Inc.' has a heart and doesn't want anybody to know it. If it's just a tax write-off, no need for the dedication."
"One of life's many mysteries."
"I'm sure he is."
"How do you know it's a 'he'?"
"Girl, I mean, Lucy, please. You just know there's a story behind that Bitsy too."
"Good point, Felix."
"I heard that, and this is one mystery nobody at GeneralHospital is ever likely to unravel. I bet it'd be worth it."