Title: "An Evening at the Essex House"
Author: Annie M
Series: Friends
Rating: T
Codes: Chandler and Monica
Part: This story is complete
Date: September 25th 2005
Summary: Chandler is invited out to dinner and asked to bring his girlfriend. So what's the problem?
Set during season six, some time after Monica's parents discover that she and Chandler are living together.
Notes: This story has not been proof read; so don't be afraid to point out any glaring errors. Hopefully they won't be significant enough to ruin your reading pleasure.
All spellings used here are British.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. No infringement intended to Bright, Kaufman, Crane or Warner Bros TV.
(c) Annie M, September 25th 2005.
---
An Evening at the Essex House By Annie M---
"Hey, Chandler," Joey cheerily greeted as he entered apartment 20 in search of breakfast. "I smell pancakes!" he announced, rubbing his hands together as he strode to investigate what Chandler was cooking by the stove. "Oh, yeah!" he said gleefully when his suspicions were confirmed.
"Joey, these are for Monica," Chandler complained, adding another pancake to a small stack he'd already prepared.
"Yeah, right," Joey snickered, taking a seat at the kitchen table and then helping himself to the carafe of coffee that had been laid out. "Where is Monica?" Joey enquired while eyeballing the rest of the table. "And why are you making breakfast?" he asked, as he spotted something of interest. "Ooh, bacon," he exclaimed, reaching out to help himself once again.
"Mon's in the shower, and I just wanted to, you know, do something nice for her," Chandler answered. Glancing over his shoulder he noticed Joey tucking into the food he'd already set out. "Hey, Joe, do you think just once, you could make your own breakfast? I hear cereal's real easy," he suggested in an annoyed tone.
"Come on, why would I do that when I have you guys?"
Chandler shook his head in dismay and returned to preparing breakfast.
A few minutes later Monica emerged from the bathroom, wearing a robe and running a towel through her damp hair.
"Hey, Mon," Joey called out, while taking a pancake from the stack that was now on the table.
Monica turned mid-stride to return the greeting. "Oh, hey," she said, then paused, looking from Joey, engrossed in loading up a plateful of food, to Chandler, who was giving him a pointed stare from the cooker. "Enjoying yourself, Joe?" Monica asked playfully, immediately deciphering just what Chandler's intent look meant.
"Oh, you bet. You should get in here, it's really good."
Looking across to his lover, Chandler couldn't help but ask, his voice dripping with sarcasm; "Umm, Babe? Tell me again, am I your live in boyfriend or is Joey?"
For a brief moment Joey's eating ceased while he pondered the rhetorical question, he then cast Monica his most potent smile. "Yeah, baby!" he swaggered, nodding his head enthusiastically at her.
"Oh, my, God," Chandler and Monica chorused in unison.
---
Monica, now fully dressed, was helping Chandler clear away the remnants of their breakfast while Joey sat sprawled out on their couch.
"Sweetie, you'd better go, or you'll be late for work," Monica advised while she buzzed around the kitchen with a damp cloth. "I'll finish this."
Chandler emitted a gurgle of disappointment. Stepping up behind Monica he wrapped his arms around her. "I hate work, can't I blow it off?" he complained in her ear before dropping an affectionate kiss onto her shoulder.
Leaning into his embrace Monica peered up at her boyfriend and asked sympathetically, "Didn't you say you had a meeting this morning?"
"Crap," he responded, stepping out of their embrace as he remembered.
"Oh, dude," Joey said from the couch. "I almost forgot, I think your mother left a message on the answering machine."
"What? When?" Chandler questioned, looking to Monica.
"Don't look at me," she said, "it's the first I've heard about it."
"Not your machine, mine, across the hall," Joey clarified.
"When was this?"
"I don't know, last night I think."
"Well, what did she say?"
"What do you think, pal; call her."
"Yeah, right. Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"I'm gonna check the message myself. Mon, I'll call you later, okay?" Chandler said, quickly kissing Monica on the lips and grabbing his jacket from across the back of the couch.
"Is everything okay?" Monica asked, stalling Chandler's exit by taking his hand.
"Yeah, I'm sure it's fine. She's probably just in town on another book tour and wants me to set her up with Ross again," he joked. Raising her fingers to his lips for a kiss and a gentle squeeze before letting go, Chandler shrugged himself into his jacket, picked up his keys from the counter and was gone.
---
Chandler returned to his desk after his monthly one-to-one meeting with his boss, Doug. They'd discussed the latest quarterly figures of the QENUS and the projected returns for the next month's WENUS and the remaining financial year's ANUS statistical reports. His job as a data analyst was never anything more than a means to an end for Chandler, but it never ceased to amaze him that Doug and the rest of their team always thought so highly of his work.
Bearing in mind all the days he'd skipped work through share laziness or feigned illness in the past, he concluded that had to be the only explanation for him to have a) never received a warning over his multiple absences, and b) why he hadn't been fired yet.
Despite his reservations about his soul-destroying job he had to admit that the money was good; but money wasn't everything and deep down, he still harboured fantasies about writing full-time one day. He just didn't know what he had to do to make that little detail happen, so instead, on the days that he did drag himself into work, he dreamed of being made redundant. Hoping that a fresh start, even if that meant being unemployed, would give him the impetus he needed to follow one of his most cherished dreams.
Thoughts of becoming an author made Chandler think about his mother, Nora. Sure she embarrassed the hell out of him from the moment he became self aware, with her sexually flamboyant behaviour, her failed marriages, and her detailed descriptions of sex with her one night stands, but Chandler had to grudgingly admit that he admired her courage. At least she was out there living her dreams and she appeared to be happy.
Checking the time on his computer he dialled the number she'd left on Joey's machine. Chandler knew there was no point in trying to call her any earlier as Nora never answered the phone before eleven in the morning. She'd told him years before not to bother because she would either be writing, "entertaining," or was hung-over from the night before.
He was pleasantly surprised when the phone was answered within the first few rings.
"Nora Bing."
"Hey, Mom, how are you?"
"Chandler!" Nora cried out, excited to hear from her only child. "What's cooking, champ?"
Chandler rolled his eyes, but smiled despite himself. His mother still addressed him as if he were a twelve-year-old boy. "I'm good. How about you? I got your message, is everything okay?"
"Chandler, honey, I'm fine," Nora assured him. "I'm back in Manhattan for a while, doing some research on my latest erotic masterpiece. I'm setting it in the Hampton's; rich boy meets girl, gets laid, gives girl a communicable disease, loses girl, cleans up his act, then wins girl back."
"Sounds like a real page turner," he remarked dryly.
"Believe me, honey, it is. My publisher's already got me looking at rough illustrations for a book cover and that's just from seeing a draft of the first four chapters."
"That's great, congratulations," Chandler said, genuinely pleased for her.
"Thanks, tiger. Anyway enough about me, I wanted to invite you out for dinner at the Essex House restaurant this week, I'll book my usual table. Can you make it?"
"Umm, I don't know, I'll have to check my appointment calendar."
"Oh, honey, don't give me that crap, I know you; you're free, so just tell me what night. I'm buying. I want to hear all about what's going on with you. Are you still seeing that, what was her name…Kathy, is it?"
"Mom--"
"No, don't tell me, save it for dinner. Bring her along, I want to meet this girl!"
"Mom--"
Before he had a chance to explain Nora rushed on, her enthusiasm doubling in intensity. "I hope she's not shy, 'cause that would be a bore. Come on now, Chandler, what night? Look, I'm free all this week, but after that I'm gonna be heading up to the Hampton's to sail, drink champagne, and stir up some trouble, know what I mean?"
"I know exactly what you mean."
"So?"
"Look, I really do need to check, okay, so I'll call you tonight and confirm, all right?"
"All right, good. Well, I've got to go, I have a lunch appointment with a gynaecologist."
"More research?"
"God, I hope not. I mean if he doesn't know his way around a woman's body, it's going to be a very dull afternoon," she laughed.
"What a lovely mental image… Mother."
"It's the writer in me, kid, now don't forget, call me later. Love you."
"Bye, Mom."
Hanging up the phone Chandler leaned back in his chair, and shook his head. His mother was absolutely incorrigible. It would be good to see her again, he thought, despite her antics.
He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen his mother. Their calls and visits had been infrequent ever since he'd left college when he'd struck out on his own.
He frowned suddenly, remembering she'd mentioned Kathy.
Kathy.
He had thought that she was going to be the love of his life, and he recalled calling Nora one evening not long after they'd started to date, telling her he'd never been so in love and that he thought she could be the one.
"Well, we know how that turned out," he said to himself. They'd had a stupid fight when his insecurities had finally got the better of him, and she'd responded by sleeping with another man. She'd cheated on him with a man with giant nipples. Cheated on him with a man with breasts as big as Rachel's for crying out loud!
Chandler gave a small chuckle, he hadn't thought about Kathy and the nipple man in a very long time. Wow, he thought, and to think I nearly ruined my friendship with Joey over her. He shook his head ruefully, wondering how he'd react if he ever saw her again.
Monica would probably kill her, he decided with a smile. Monica--his feisty, funny, sexy, wonderfully neurotic lover. The woman whom he knew he loved more than anyone he'd ever been with, including Kathy.
Could Monica be the one? It was question he never dared to ask, even of himself. His past relationships, if you could call them that, had all ended badly, and typically in the arms of another man.
He knew Monica as well as anyone probably could, and he knew she'd never cheated on any of her past boyfriends. But he was Chandler, and women he dated were unfaithful, women he dated were on the rebound, and worse, the women he dated were usually desperate.
---
Monica entered her apartment after work later that day to the familiar sight of Joey sitting on her couch. He sat with one leg up on the coffee table while he surfed TV channels with the remote control.
"Hey," Monica greeted him happily, strolling in to put two grocery bags on the table before carefully removing her purse from her shoulder and slipping her unused keys back into her purse before laying it next to the shopping bags.
"Hey, Mon. What time's dinner?" Joey asked, turning briefly away from the TV to look in her direction.
"I'm not cooking dinner tonight," she answered sweetly. "Order a take-out."
Joey knew food when he saw it, even if it was completely bagged. "So what's the food for?" he asked, gesturing, remote still in hand, to the bags on the table.
"I had an idea for a new dish at the restaurant. I'm going to experiment," Monica answered smugly.
"So, you're gonna cook?" Joey asked slowly.
"I'm experimenting."
"But you're gonna cook?" he asked again.
"Yeah."
"So, what time's dinner?" Joey questioned triumphantly.
Rolling her eyes and ignoring her friend Monica removed her jacket and headed towards her bedroom to change.
Putting down the remote Joey got up to investigate the bags of grocery. Looking in gingerly, he pulled something out that felt cold against his fingers.
"Wild Alaskan salmon," he read off the label. "Nice," he said, nodding his head in approval. "What else we got in here?" His curiosity piqued he continued to rummage through the bags, pulling out flour, eggs, sodas, milk, bathroom cleaner, fresh asparagus, a carton of single and double cream, a bottle of white wine, a bag of baby new potatoes and toilet paper. "What the hell is she cooking?" Joey mumbled to himself, not noticing as the apartment door swung open again to reveal Ross and Chandler in discussion.
"So, she's actually staying in town for a while?" Ross was asking.
"Yeah," Chandler made a face as he responded. "Only she's calling it 'research'," he went on, making an air quotes sign with his fingers.
Ross laughed. "I love your mother," he said wistfully.
"You stay away from my mother. Because I'm not turning up to her fifth wedding, or your fourth, if I'm going to have to start calling you Daddy," Chandler warned.
"Ross is getting married again?" Joey asked innocently.
Ross shook his head in disgust before heading to the fridge to retrieve a bottle of water.
"Hey, Joe," Chandler acknowledged.
"Hey, guys," Monica called, coming out of her bedroom. Chandler went to greet her with a smile and they met halfway across the room, stopping to share a kiss and a hug before Monica stepped back to peak over his shoulder. "Joey, what the hell are you doing?" she demanded.
"What? I was just…helping you unpack the groceries?" Joey tried to defend himself sheepishly.
"Go. Order. A take-out!" Monica stated firmly, her command leaving no room for discussion.
"Oh, all right, but you should know, Ross is getting married again!" he said angrily before storming out of the apartment.
"What?" Monica asked looking from Chandler to her brother. "You didn't go and get drunk again, did you?" she asked accusingly.
"I'm not getting married. Chandler and I were just joking around because Nora's in town," Ross clarified.
"Your mother's here?" Monica asked turning back to Chandler.
"Yes," he confirmed. "And she wants to have dinner with us one night this week."
"Really?" Monica wasn't sure if she should be excited or terrified at the prospect.
"Or should I say, she wants to have dinner with me and the girl I'm seeing."
"She doesn't know about us?" Monica asked sounding a little hurt by the revelation.
"We're not exactly close, Mon. And besides, I haven't spoken to her in almost two years."
"So? My mother hates me and I speak to her every week!"
"Mom does not hate you," Ross interjected.
"How would you know, miracle-boy?"
Chandler rolled his eyes and scratched his head. "Listen, I'm sorry, okay? We'll go have dinner with her and tell her all about us. It'll actually be good," he said, moving closer to her to take her hands in his. "For the first time in my life, I won't have to lie to her when I tell her that I'm happy," he admitted smiling down at her.
For the life of her, Monica had no idea how he did that; how he could say something so delightful and wonderful and sincere that it dissolved all of her anger, frustrations or fears. It was something she was beginning to realise that he'd always done for her, even before they'd crossed that invisible line in London and had become more than just friends.
Monica returned his smile with a grin of her own. "That's so sweet," she said leaning in to place a soft kiss against his lips, putting her arms around his neck as the kiss began to deepen.
Ross could see that their little love fest wasn't about to end anytime soon, and as much as he loved his sister, and was genuinely happy for both of them, he really didn't need to see her and his best friend making out like that. It was too weird.
"Yeah," Ross said loudly, trying to diffuse the romantic moment. "You can tell Nora that you've shacked up with my little sister," he suggested with a smirk. His sarcasm was met with the desired effect as the couple broke their kiss and turned to glare in his direction. Chandler looked suitably embarrassed while Monica gave Ross the patented "Geller finger."
---
The Essex House restaurant was situated within the Essex House hotel in midtown, Manhattan, and Monica had squealed with delight when Chandler had told her they would be meeting his mother for dinner there. The restaurant's head chef, Alain Ducasse, was a food hero of Monica's and she had entertained Chandler over the course of the next two days on why the restaurant's French and Mediterranean cuisine was worth every over-priced dollar a patron could expect to pay for the privilege of dining there.
Nora had informed Chandler that their table had been booked for 8.30 PM and that she would see them there. Arriving by taxicab just after eight, Chandler had let Monica guide him into the hotel bar and lounge for an aperitif. They were led to a small table near the bar where a waiter took their order; Monica's usual scotch on the rocks with a twist and a light beer for Chandler.
"You look gorgeous by the way," Chandler couldn't help repeating while he watched Monica remove the black shawl from around her shoulders as they waited for their drinks.
When she'd emerged from their bedroom earlier that evening he'd been practically speechless she'd looked so breathtaking.
Monica wore a black form-fitting sleeveless dress that stopped just above her knees. The neckline of the dress was cut low, accentuating her cleavage and her adorable freckles. She wore her hair down, but that didn't cover the flashes of white gold she wore in her ears or the matching necklace around her neck and its pendant, sitting just above the swell of her breasts.
"Thank you," she responded, sliding one of her sheer stocking-covered legs up and against Chandler's under the small table. "You look pretty good too," Monica complimented him sexily.
"I picked it up at a second hand store--half off," he said playfully, nudging intimately against her leg with his own as he indicated the coal coloured single breasted wool suit, black shirt and silver-grey silk tie she'd bought for him several weeks before. "Do you like it?"
"Yeah, I do," she teased him with a warm laugh. "I think my boyfriend would look great in a suit like that."
Their banter was interrupted when a waiter arrived with their drinks. Their feet continued to stroke each other under the table as they sat back, allowing the drinks to be placed before them. Chandler toasted her with a wink as he picked up his glass and took a sip.
Monica sipped at her scotch and gazed around at the other patrons in the lounge. "Why haven't we come here for dinner before?" she asked, her eyes still surveying the opulent surroundings.
Chandler gave her a condescending look before stating simply, "we can't afford to."
She smiled, nodding her agreement. "Oh, right. So, are you nervous?" she asked giving Chandler her full attention once more.
"A little," he admitted. "You?"
"Terrified," she said, taking a deeper sip of her scotch.
They laughed at each then sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping at their drinks and smiling nervously at each other. As the minutes ticked away they were both keenly aware of the tension that was developing between them at the prospect of sharing a meal and the extent of their relationship with the outspoken and sometimes outrageous Nora Tyler Bing.
"Oh, hey," Monica said, as if remembering something. "You said Nora knew you were bringing a girlfriend, but if she doesn't know it's me, who does she think it is?"
Chandler took several large gulps of beer before setting the glass down on the table. He fidgeted with his tie and raked a hand through his hair. "Well, you know it's been a while since we've talked, right?"
Monica nodded, wondering why he was suddenly so nervous.
"Anyway," he went on, "the last time we spoke I was sort of seeing someone else."
"Okay." Monica still didn't understand his nervousness; it wasn't as if she was jealous of any of his former girlfriends, well maybe just one. "So, what, she thinks I'm Janice?" she asked with a reassuring smile.
He shook his head slowly. "No…"
"Joanna?" she asked, a frown now creasing her brow as she thought back to some of Chandler's more disastrous relationships.
A warm hand on her shoulder made Monica jump and before she could turn around she saw a look of surprised recognition on Chandler's face.
"Hey, champ," a feminine voice rang out from above Monica's head.
"Mom," Chandler managed to sputter out, quickly rising from his seat to embrace his mother in a hug.
"My, don't we look handsome," she continued, pulling back slightly from their hug to give Chandler an approving smile.
"You look great, Mom, as always," he complimented her.
"Chandler, honey, I have to look good," she confided. "You never know when those tabloid hacks might show up; one bad picture and you're an over-the-hill hack romance novelist. Believe me, honey, that ain't happening to me. So," she went on, "are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend or do I have to do everything myself, huh?"
He threw Monica an apologetic look from over Nora's shoulder, before gently turning his mother towards her. "Mom," he said quickly, "you remember Monica don't you, Ross' sister?"
"Oh."
There was no mistaking the disappointment in Nora's voice, but Monica rose gamely from her seat and offered a welcoming smile. "Hi, …Mrs Bing."
"I'm sorry, honey. Of course I remember you. It's just that when I talked to Chandler about bringing a date," Nora said, her arm wrapped firmly around Chandler's waist, "I was hoping he'd be bringing his girlfriend. I still remember the way he went on about her--"
"Mom…" Chandler tried to interrupt.
"It was Kathy this and Kathy that. That was her name, right?" Nora questioned, pausing to kiss Chandler's cheek before rubbing the residue of her lipstick off of it. "So, what happened? She couldn't make it tonight? Is she in a show? You said she was an actress, right?"
"Mom," Chandler said a little more forcefully. "We broke up a long time ago. I'm not with Kathy anymore."
"Oh, honey," she said sympathetically. I'm so sorry, I didn't know."
Chandler shrugged. "I guess I should call more often," he said, by way of apology.
"So should I. I'm a terrible mother aren't I?"
Chandler smiled and shook his head. "No, you're not."
Nora gazed at Monica, giving the young lady her full attention for the first time. A low whistle escaped her lips as she took in her appearance. "Honey," she said, in her slow southern drawl. "You look sensational. Why are you wasting your time babysitting Chandler when, dressed like that, you should be out on a hot date of your own?"
Monica blushed despite herself. "Thank you, Mrs Bing."
"Oh, come on, honey, call me Nora. It's not like it's the first time we've ever met."
"Umm, Nora, Chandler is…" Monica began, pausing when Chandler started to say something.
"Mom, Monica and I--"
Nora interrupted them once more, mistaking their furtive and awkward glances as embarrassment. "Oh, hush up, you two," she said, trying to reassure them by taking charge of the situation. "There's no need to feel uncomfortable around little old me. So, neither of you has a date tonight, big deal. Come on, our table should be ready by now. Let's eat."
Nora led them on and Chandler and Monica reluctantly followed at a much slower pace.
"She thought I was Kathy?" Monica whispered accusingly.
"I'm sorry, Mon," Chandler hastily tried to apologise. "But isn't that better than being thought of as Janice?" he questioned hopefully.
"Okay, you have a point," she quickly conceded. "But now she just thinks we're friends."
"Yeah, I know."
"We have to tell her."
"I know."
"Tonight, Chandler," she hissed in a more menacing tone.
"I will, don't worry," Chandler soothed. "Look on the bright side," he whispered happily, "at least my mother doesn't hate you."
Monica stopped walking and pulled on Chandler's arm to halt his progress. "What? Why would she hate me?"
He quickly ran a hand through his hair. "Mon, she doesn't! I was just trying to make a joke--you know, like how your parents thought I'd got Ross high, remember? Like that." Putting a hand to her back, he motioned her to resume walking.
"Oh," she said, considering his words as she moved ahead of him. "Okay!" she said again, suddenly getting the joke.
"Okay."
"Come on you two, what's the hold up?" Nora quizzed from beside a dark haired and handsome matre d'.
"Sorry, I forgot my shawl," Monica answered smoothly. They finally made their way to Nora before the matre d' escorted them into the hotel's restaurant.
---
They were seated at Nora's favourite table, set in the heart of the restaurant with a view of the city on one side and VIP patrons on the other. Chandler helped first his mother into her seat and then Monica, instinctively seating himself next to her and across from Nora. The dining tables were adorned with rich linen tablecloths, linen serviettes, custom made knives in damascened steel, Riedel crystal glassware and beautiful Chinese laquerware dessert china.
Chandler selected a white wine and they made their way through the appetizers exchanging light conversation. Chandler talked and joked about his job and the people he worked with, Nora talked about the last two books she'd written and the research she was about to embark on in the Hampton's. Nora asked about Ross, but Chandler told her she was showing much too much interest in his old college roommate and decided to veto the topic, much to his mother's and Monica's amusement.
Monica talked of her love for food, her role as head chef at Alessandro's and--finally able to joke about it--the terrible start to her career there. When she mentioned that one of her food heroes was the head chef at the Essex House Nora promised to introduce her to him and make sure she was given a tour of the restaurant's kitchen--one of the finest in New York.
To Monica's initial dismay Nora had insisted on ordering their main courses, deciding that the chef inside Monica would only order food that wouldn't challenge the kitchen.
"At these prices, every dish ought to be a challenge," Chandler quipped, winking at Monica.
"Oh, hush, you. Besides, I'm treating, so I don't want to hear another word about money, all right?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good boy."
Monica had grinned at their exchange, liking the fact that she felt comfortable around Nora. She'd felt a tiny pang of jealousy at the mention of Kathy's name, and in truth Kathy was the only one of Chandler's girlfriends she'd ever felt remotely threatened by.
Monica had been genuinely saddened to hear about their break-up, but had feared for a while, while they were still together, that maybe Chandler would be the first to leave their group of six. The possibility of him moving on with his life and entwining his with Kathy, in another location, away from his friends, had seemed very real to Monica back then.
If that possibility had come true, she knew she would have missed him deeply.
She'd never seen him so head-over-heels in love with another woman. He was romantic with Kathy, affectionate, and thoughtful, and she'd found herself wishing that somebody--including Richard--had held her fingers to his lips and gazed for endless minutes into her eyes the way Chandler had with Kathy.
But in the end she really was a "devil-woman" as Chandler had called her after their break-up. How could anyone cheat on Chandler, the sweetest guy in the world, and, whom she knew first hand was incredible in bed? Why would you let all that go over a stupid fight?
Still, Kathy's loss had certainly been Monica's gain, one that she had no intention of letting go of, no matter how many stupid fights they had.
Lost in her musings Monica didn't even mind that Nora was taking control of the evening. The woman was quite an entertainer and a natural storyteller. She could certainly see how Chandler's sense of humour had developed growing up, and it was no wonder Nora's erotic novels sold so well. The woman had an irresistible magnetism that drew you in and you couldn't help but be interested in anything she had to say.
Their main course and another bottle of wine (Nora had been drinking liberally since the moment they'd been seated) arrived with a flurry. The dishes were all superbly presented and Monica had to admire Nora's taste.
She was right, she had to admit to herself, I would have ordered the slow roasted salmon.
There was line-caught bass and a hearty medley of vegetables; lamb rack "au sautoir," condiment of dried fruit, piquillos and creamy quinoa; aged rib eye of Black Angus, shallots, Boston bibb lettuce, panisses and sabayon.
"Some spread huh, kids?" Nora announced, exchanging a sexy wink with the matre d', who happily returned it before ushering the serving waiters away and leaving them to dine. Neither Monica nor Chandler missed the intent behind those looks, and traded knowing smiles of their own.
The food was excellent and not even Monica's inner food critic could fault the various contrasting textures, aromas and tastes that lay before them. This was food heaven.
"Oh, God, Chandler, you have to try this," Monica exclaimed excitedly after tasting her first bite of the lamb rack and piquillos. Slicing a generous piece of lamb and loading her fork with a combination of the dried fruit and sweet red peppers, she gently fed it into Chandler's mouth.
Chandler ate slowly, closing his eyes and making a face of feigned ecstasy. "Wow," he approved, opening his eyes and smiling broadly at Monica. "I know what I want for dinner tomorrow night," he said suggestively.
Nora watched with a smile, intrigued and amused by her son's reaction and Monica's answering brush of a fingertip against his cheek.
As they continued to eat Nora again regaled Chandler and Monica with her many anecdotes of book tours, autograph signings, and television and radio appearances that she'd made across Europe and North and South America.
"Those books just fly off the shelves in Argentina and Mexico. And don't let those bible thumpers in the Mid-West fool you either. I'm the number one seller over the internet down there too."
"It sounds like you really know your audience," Monica praised, feeling more and more relaxed and re-filling first Chandler's wine glass and then her own. "Nora?" she asked, indicating what was left of their second bottle.
"No, you kids finish that one, I'll order another," Nora replied with a smile before getting the matre d's attention with a quick wave of her hand and pointing to the almost empty bottle.
---
As Nora drank the last of her own wine she watched her son. He was leant closely to Monica and whispering something in her ear. His fingers brushed against the skin of her upper arm and Monica responded by leaning into the touch and whispering back to him, one hand on her wine glass, the other out of view under the table.
The warm atmosphere of the restaurant, the great food, excellent wine and better than expected conversation was probably playing tricks on her mind, Nora thought absently. Blaming her writer's habit of projecting emotions where there was probably none, she tried to dismiss the couple's easy affection.
They certainly made an attractive couple, she decided, and it had been a long time since she'd seen her son as happy and relaxed as he appeared tonight. Chandler had mentioned Monica several times in the past to her, through the letters he used to send, and that she now realised she missed from him. He'd always described her as one of his closet friends, the person he felt most comfortable talking to. Maybe that was all she was really witnessing; a deep platonic bond of friendship.
Nora had never experienced that herself, and generally doubted its actual existence. Try as she might she'd never been able to bring that specific aspect into any of her writing, preferring and finding it easier to explore the animal attraction and carnal desires of young lovers that her readers ceaselessly clamoured for.
Maybe there really was something to admire about a platonic relationship, she considered, smiling up at the matre d' as he approached with a fresh bottle of wine.
Oh, hell with that, what I need is this stud's number before I leave here tonight!
The nameless matre d' opened and poured Nora a fresh glass of wine, placing it on the table in front of them. "Will there be anything else, Madame?" he asked, noticing the empty plates and quickly attracted the attention of a waiter who was passing close by.
"I'll see a dessert menu… if you're on it," Nora suggested brazenly.
She heard Monica choke on her wine and Chandler's deep groan of embarrassment, but she didn't care. She needed passion and spontaneity in her life. Having someone's shoulder to cry on was fine, but that wasn't enough for her.
Sure, she'd ended up kissing a lot of frogs, but half the fun was the journey, and by God, she meant to enjoy every possible adventure along the way.
The matre d' laughed politely as the waiter started to clear their plates away. "Perhaps I can interest you in the exotic-lime 'vacherin.' It is made with mango marmalade, coconut meringue and passion sauce."
"Coconut meringue and passion sauce?" Nora queried, lacing each word with a sensuous double meaning.
The matre d' blushed, barely able to contain the grin spreading across his face. "Shall I order one for you, or would you prefer to see the dessert menu?" he attempted, desperately trying to act and sound like the gracious host he was paid to be.
Nora casually looked over her shoulder, removed her purse by its straps from behind her chair, opened it and pulled out a business card. "Maybe I'll just give the main course a chance to settle first," she said, handing him the small, white, embossed card.
"A wise choice, Madame," he responded, his smile returning as he quickly pocketed the card and bowed before retreating to his duties.
Nora's gaze returned to her dinner guests with a satisfied smile. Monica sat gaping at her, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. Chandler's elbows were on the table, and his head was leant forward and shaking as it rested in his hands.
"Oh, come on you two, don't be such prudes," Nora reasoned, returning her purse to the back of her chair.
"I thought you were seeing a gynaecologist?" Chandler questioned, looking up from where his head still rested in his hands.
"Sweetie, that was just some afternoon delight."
"I can't believe you," he groaned.
"Listen, you two may be happy being single and unattached, and God knows, Chandler, you've never been a take charge kind of guy with the ladies, for which I blame your father, but I have needs," Nora explained patiently.
"You're both young and attractive, you should be out there getting your own share. Speaking of which," Nora continued, casting her eyes around the large dining room. "This entire restaurant is filled with gorgeous men and women and neither of you have given anyone," she paused to look pointedly at Monica. "Not even that spectacular matre d', a second look. What is wrong with you two?"
Chandler sat up in his hair, adjusted his tie, ran his fingers through his hair and laughed nervously. Monica's expression had softened and she smiled shyly at Nora before turning an expectant gaze on Chandler.
---
Letting out a long breath Chandler reached for his glass and gulped down the remains of his wine, refilling it quickly from the fresh bottle on the table. He took another gulp before setting the glass down and slowly reached under the table for Monica's hand. Her fingers slid easily against his and as their palms touched and his hand circled her own she gave it a welcoming squeeze. He felt a rush of warmth move through his body at her touch and it instantly calmed his quaking nerves.
He turned to look into Monica's eyes and saw that they were offering him the same strength and reassurance as the hand that was clasped tightly within his own. She mouthed the words "it's okay," to him and he nodded believing her.
Nora was giving them both a puzzled look and Chandler could see that her mind was working overtime as she tried to fathom, what must have seemed to her, their odd behaviour.
"Mom," he began a little bashfully. "There's been something I've wanted to tell you all evening, actually for a long time now," he said, his voice gaining confidence.
Nora's eyebrows arched, but she didn't respond.
"Something happened to me a while ago, something I really didn't expect or think was possible. I mean, you already said it," he began to ramble. "I'm no good with the ladies, and I know that. I tell too many jokes and don't seem to take anything seriously, I'm immature and--"
"Chandler, honey," Nora interrupted him. "Is this some sort of coming out confession? Are you trying to tell me that you're gay?"
"What? No! Why do people…?" he started then stopped. "Would you just let me finish, please?" he said with an exasperated sigh.
Nora raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry, honey. Go on."
Chandler shook his head and bit his lip before slowly raising his and Monica's joined hands onto the table. "Mom, Monica and I are living together. We've been together for a while now, I moved in with her last October."
"Oh, my, God," Nora breathed, taken aback by the news. "And you never told me, I can't believe this!" she said, her eyes whipping back and forth between the couple.
"I know, and I'm sorry," Chandler apologised. "I tried to tell you the other morning, when we spoke, and we tried to tell you when you got here, but you kept interrupting us."
"Honey, I'm so sorry," she apologised through a smile that was getting wider by the second. "I kept thinking you two looked more than a little familiar with each other over dinner," she admitted slyly, reaching out across the table to offer her hands to each of them.
Without letting go of their joined hands, Chandler offered Nora his free left hand and Monica did the same with her right. Nora squeezed their hands in hers tightly for several moments while they grinned insanely at each other from across the table.
"Oh, baby, I'm so happy for you, for both of you," she said, her pride evident in her radiant smile. "Oh, come here," she ordered. Letting go of their hands she rose from her seat, and as she strode around the table she motioned for them to join her. Still holding hands Chandler and Monica joined her at the side of the table and Nora enveloped them within her thin arms. She held them tightly to her and kissed first Chandler's cheek and then Monica's.
The three remained oblivious to the resulting stares they were getting from the rest of the diners and staff, but eventually their embrace ended when Nora pulled back slightly, placing her hands on each of their shoulders.
"Monica Geller, Chandler Bing," she said sternly, her gaze shifting from one to the other in mock severity. "I want details!"
---
Resuming their seats, Nora ordered champagne and Chandler and Monica began to tell their story. The couple were each in their own turn a little hesitant at first, but Nora's well-aimed questions were searching, direct and clearly heartfelt, her voice rich with encouragement, warmth and love.
They told her of Ross' disastrous second marriage to Emily in London, Monica's vulnerability and sadness at the rehearsal dinner the night before, and how she'd thrown herself at Chandler in a desperate attempt to assuage her own loneliness. How they'd both tried and failed to write their night of unbridled passion off as a mistake for the sake of their friendship then used the foreign location they were in as an excuse to prolong it.
Returning to New York and both realising that neither one of them wanted their new intimacy to end. Hiding their burgeoning relationship and seeing each other in secret; slipping in and out of each others apartments at all hours of the night or early morning, desperate and craving to touch or kiss, to talk and laugh without the expectant or interfering observations of those closest to them.
Monica told of the triplets that Phoebe had given birth to as a favour to her stepbrother Frank and his wife, Alice. With pride she mentioned that one of the babies had been named after Chandler, and in his usual self-depreciating tone Chandler had pointed out that the baby in question was a girl.
Chandler recounted their first real fight after they'd gone away together for a weekend in Atlantic City, and how they'd made up after returning home. Joey's discovery of their relationship and how they'd begged him to secrecy, then used and abused that trust at every opportunity to make him look like a "sex addict" whenever their clandestine relationship was on the verge of discovery.
Finally being forced to admit to their friends and Ross that they were in love and that what they had was no casual series of liaisons.
Barely containing her laughter Monica informed Nora of their second big fight. Knowing Chandler's insecurities and fears all too well, she'd known he would crack under the added pressure of public scrutiny. So when she'd called him on it and he'd tried to twist it back on to her, she'd walked out, letting him know that this was his problem to fix, if he wanted to.
"He fixed it, all right," Monica laughed. "He walked into my crowded living room, got down on one knee and proposed to me--because he was sorry."
Their laughter was infectious and though it was embarrassing to hear that particular story again, when Monica tenderly kissed his lips Chandler didn't mind so much.
"Hey," he said in his defence, "I wasn't the only one acting crazy during our relationship. Remember Gary, Phoebe's old boyfriend?"
"Oh, God." Now it was Monica's turn to blush.
"What happened?" Nora wanted to know through the tears of her laughter.
---
One bottle of champagne and four bottles of wine later Nora finally paid the bill with a credit card and left a generous cash tip for their attentive matre d'. As promised, Nora introduced Monica and Chandler to the restaurant's head chef, Alain Ducasse, where they were given a whirlwind tour of the enormous kitchen. Monica was suitably impressed, and just drunk enough to question the world-renowned chef as to why the piquillos weren't flavoured with a little more garlic.
At the chef's outraged look Chandler had quickly stepped in, putting his arm around Monica's waist and gently escorting her out of the kitchen.
"Come on, honey, the babysitter isn't going to wait up forever," he said, shrugging his shoulders and making a face at the French chef that was meant to convey an apologetic expression of I-have-no-idea-what-she's-talking-about.
"We have a baby?" Monica asked hopefully when they were on the other side of the kitchen door.
"One thing at a time, sweetie," he said reassuringly, knowing she was too drunk to pursue that line of questioning.
All three of them stumbled out into the late cool spring evening, Chandler's arms wrapped securely around the waists of both ladies as he walked between them.
Nora insisted that they accompany her back to her apartment on the Upper East Side to continue the evening and spend the night.
"It's not like I don't have the room," she commented.
"But I don't have a change of clothes," Monica moaned. "All of my toiletries are back at the apartment."
"Oh, honey, don't you worry about that. I've got plenty of clothes you can borrow and I have more scents, lotions and make-up than anyone will ever need," Nora assured her.
Monica was instantly appeased. "Okay!"
Chandler hailed a cab and they were in Nora's tastefully furnished apartment twenty-five minutes later, standing out on the large half-moon lit terrace and gazing across at the shrouded darkness of Central Park.
While Nora's maid prepared a guest bedroom under her supervision, Chandler and Monica sipped bourbon and scotch.
"I forget sometimes that you grew up in all this," Monica whispered to Chandler, casting her arm around their surroundings and sloshing a little of her drink over the side of its glass.
"I was here a lot," he admitted. "But most of the time I was in the house on Long Island. Alone," he quietly confessed.
Monica put her drink down on the edge of the balcony and turned to embrace him. Leaning to rest her head against his chest she pushed her hands up under the jacket he wore and stroked his back soothingly.
"I can't imagine how lonely you must have been," she said sadly.
"For a long time, I thought I always would be," Chandler murmured against her hair. "I was terrified I'd end up like Mr Heckles," he said, holding her tightly against him.
"Never," she stated simply.
Reaching up she stroked his cheek gently and coaxed his face closer to hers. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment before Monica leant in and kissed him. The kiss was slow, Monica's tongue tasting traces of the wine they'd consumed all evening, a hint of champagne, the steak he'd eaten at dinner and bourbon. She continued to scatter light kisses around his mouth and at Chandler's low groan of desire, she opened her mouth fully to him, kissing him deeply and feeling light-headed all over again as his tongue tasted hers.
The kiss went on, growing in intensity at the hunger of their desire. Still entwined, Chandler manoeuvred them so that Monica's back was pressed against the glass and chrome balcony wall that lined the terrace.
"I'd take you right here, if you'd let me," he whispered breathlessly against her lips when he came up for air, his hands stroking seductively against her hips.
"I want you to," came her equally breathless reply.
They kissed again, hungrily devouring the small space between them, pressing their bodies closer together as Chandler teased his fingers over the covered nipple of her left breast and rubbed his erection against her stomach. Monica moaned into his mouth at the contact and reached down to caress him lower, stroking him to further hardness within the confines of his pants.
They didn't hear the click of her heals or the polite but ever increasing volume of her coughs. They didn't hear the deliberate scraping of a glass and chrome chair against the tiled surface of the terrace. They didn't even hear the calling of their own names until the sound of a glass breaking somewhere behind them alerted them to the fact that they were no longer alone.
Their kiss was ended abruptly and Nora could hear, even from the other side of the terrace, their panted breaths, as they broke apart. Chandler glanced over his shoulder, spotting his mother by the glass fronted, sliding patio doors, a shattered glass near her feet. She was giving them an amused grin, her arms folded across her breasts. Monica buried her head in Chandler's shoulder a light chuckle escaping her as she tried to regain control of herself.
"I think it's time you kids turned in for bed," Nora suggested reasonably.
They stood panting by the rail for a few more seconds before Chandler silently took Monica's hand and placing her in front him let her lead them back inside. Monica halted when they'd reached Nora and she impulsively reached out to hug the woman.
"Thank you for a wonderful evening, Nora."
"It was my pleasure, sweetie," she said returning the embrace before whispering quietly in Monica's ear. "I've never seen him so happy. Thank you."
They shared a secret smile before Nora looked up at Chandler. Still standing in Monica's shadow, he leant down to place a gentle kiss upon her forehead. "I love you, Mom," he murmured.
"I love you too, son," she said, caressing his cheek. "Go on now, Lauren's inside, she'll show you which room you're in."
"Good night," the couple said again before moving on.
Nora listened to their disappearing footsteps for a while before stooping to collect the larger pieces of glass that had fragmented onto the terrace floor. Picking them up carefully she placed them on a nearby table, making a mental note to remind Lauren to clean the rest of her mess up in the morning.
Collecting the still partially filled glasses from the terrace's rail she felt energised and elated at her son's obvious contentment. She knew she had little to do with her son while he was growing up. She was too busy focusing on establishing her own career. Charles, her ex-husband and Chandler's father had been much better in that respect, at least he'd tried to support his son in what ways he could, but even so, Chandler had been exposed to a lot of experiences as a child that most liberal minded adults would balk at.
It was a testimony to the strength of his own character that Chandler, for all of his insecurities, had turned out as relatively well adjusted as he had. Most other children, brought up in such an environment, would have been in therapy for life, or at the very least, had their heads buried in huge quantities of illegal substances.
If Chandler could move in with his lover, Nora wondered, would he ever be willing to take the next step in his personal development, and consider the possibility of marriage or perhaps children?
She put the collected glasses on the table, away from the shattered pieces, entered back into her apartment, closing and locking the patio doors behind her. Feeling a need to write Nora headed towards her study, shutting off some lights along her way.
Considering the abject calamities he'd been forced to witness growing up, marriage might be asking a little too much of Chandler she decided. But Monica was good for him she sensed and who knew, anything was possible after all.
She'd certainly written that cliché enough times.
One thing she did know for certain, as she flicked on the lights in her study and settled at her desk, flipping on the switches to her computer and monitor, was that she had a hot new love scene for her latest book and she had to get it down before she lost the moment. As she waited in silence for her computer to boot up she pulled a writing pad close to her, picked up a pen and started to scribble some notes.
Jotting down ideas and snatches of dialogue quickly, a sound in the distance made Nora pause. She listened intently for a few moments until she was able to identify the sound. Having become quickly familiar with Monica's voice, Nora grinned broadly before returning to her writing pad.
Observation and drawing on one's personal experiences, after all, was the key to good writing.
---
End
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