Leaving Los Angeles
"'Let's go home for Christmas,' she says," Niles mimicked, a note of affection hidden under the bundles of packages with which he was laden. He carried four stuffed shopping bags, and was too tired to look down and remind himself which designer boutiques had finally had items worthy of purchase. No outlet malls for Babcocks and their butlers, no sir. The two had hired a limo just after noon, and had spent hours on Madison Avenue. Trudging, if he had the job of describing it, through the grey slush that covered the sidewalks.
"Hush," she responded. "Look, it's snowing again." CC Babcock was not in the least affected by Niles's snarls. Though she was well into her eighth month of pregnancy, the—elation, really, was the only word to express it—of being back in the city after long, carbon copy, seventy-five degree days in Los Angeles was enough to make her willing to haul her heavy belly from Chanel to Cartier to Armani with a minimum of cutting comments and rude remarks. And even those she mostly directed at other shoppers or unfortunate clerks: not her usual target.
Niles cocked an eyebrow at the unfamiliar expression of wonder on her face. "Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" Glancing up, he saw that indeed, flurries swirled around the street lamps that had come on in the waning light of the wintery day. "Since when do you do anything but complain about snow?"
"Since we moved to the damn desert," she retorted, her distaste for their new city undisguised.
As they approached the limo, Niles lifted his chin to acknowledge the driver, who jumped to open the door for CC, then moved to take the bags from Niles. While the driver deposited their purchases in the trunk, Niles flexed his aching hands and slid in beside CC. She automatically moved nearer to him, and he draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"I've missed New York," she said quietly, resting her head against his stubbly cheek.
He rumbled his agreement, adding, "Living on a street lined with palm trees at Christmas time is just not on." Pressing the button to activate the intercom, he addressed the driver. "Let's head home now, Dave, thanks."
"I suppose I really should sell the penthouse," CC mused, reluctance and perhaps a question in her voice as the driver eased the limo into the steady stream of traffic.
"I don't see why," Niles replied. "Especially once the baby is born, it will be better to have our own home when we visit the city."
"Or we could just move back permanently," she said flippantly, but turned to watch his reaction to her words.
His eyes widened. "Or that." He shifted to the side, away from her so he could see her expression." Are you quite serious?"
"Oh, I don't know. Sometimes I think I can't stand another day in LA, but I know how important the Sheffields are to you." She averted her eyes, looking out the window over Niles's shoulder. The snow was coming down harder.
"Yes, but what about the sitcom? Isn't that important to you?" Niles felt his heart racing.
Her laugh was more bitter than amused. "I will never be an equal partner in Sheffield-Babcock Productions, Niles. You know that as well as I do."
At the longing in her voice, he gently reached for her chin, tilting her head so could look into her eyes. "Why haven't we talked about this before?"
"When have we had a chance? You're so busy helping with the twins and I spend nearly every waking moment either at the studio dealing with never-ending stacks of paperwork, or commuting back and forth on the godforsaken highway. Nanny Fine even calls you to come next door in the middle of the night. I knew no good would come of living so close to them."
"It has only been a handful of times, usually when one of the children was ill," he tried to placate her.
She pulled away, stiffening her spine. "It has been more than a handful of times," she hissed as the car slowed to a stop in front of their building. She was out the door before the driver or Niles could open it for her.
By the time Niles stepped out of the limo onto the slick street, the doorman was greeting CC, and when he finally collected the packages from the trunk, she had disappeared inside the elevator.
"We'll call tomorrow if we need to go out," he said, tipping the driver generously and wishing him a pleasant evening. In any case, Niles suspected Dave's would be better than his own was shaping up to be.
When the elevator reached the top floor of the apartment building, Niles shuffled the bags he was carrying so he could manage the lock on the penthouse door. Unnecessarily, it turned out, because CC was waiting for him, and opened the door before he could pull his keys out of his pocket. She extended a hand to take some of the bags, but he just raised an eyebrow at her and set them gently on the tile flooring near the door, beside the heels she had abandoned in a mound of melting ice.
Wordlessly, she turned and walked away from him. He quickly put his coat in the closet, toed off his shoes, and followed her as she went into the master bedroom. When she crossed the threshold into the dimly lit space, she finally spoke. "I have to get off my feet, and the sofa isn't going to cut it."
CC made her way across to the bed and gingerly sat on the mattress, grimacing at the dip she created. Niles sat beside her.
"Uh uh," she grunted, shaking her head and indicating for him to move so she could stretch out. He stood and walked around the bed to his side, while she pulled her legs up onto the mattress. She groaned as she realized that the hems of her maternity slacks were caked with slush, and peeled the garment off her body and tossed it onto the carpeted floor.
Niles, unable to resist the urge to pick up after her, grabbed the article of clothing and stepped into the bathroom to drape it over the shower stall. He stripped to his boxers and his white button-up, then placed his damp trousers beside hers. When he moved back into the bedroom, he found his wife reclining against a pile of pillows, her hands on her swollen belly.
She turned her head toward him. "Are we going to talk about this?"
"I think it would be wise," he acknowledged as he pulled a thick cotton blanket from the walk-in closet. He spread it over her to ward off the chill in the room, and she rolled to her side, facing him. As Niles sat down on the bed, she lifted the blanket. He scooted close to her and she pulled the cover up to his chest.
Under the blanket, he put a hand on her hip, and she automatically moved her feet to warm them on his leg. He yelped in fake distress and she laughed, deep in her throat. He felt a frisson of desire, and he stroked his hand down to her thigh.
"None of that," she said. "Let's talk."
"But we always communicate better this way," he coaxed, letting his hand drift to her bottom.
She shoved him away. "Not this time," she said flatly.
"All right, out with it. I do realize that it annoys you when I go over to the Sheffields' in the night, and I understand that," he said. "But why all of a sudden do you want to leave California? And the production company?" And the only family I've known for thirty years, he left unsaid.
"It's not sudden. I hate it there, and I don't know how you haven't noticed," she said with a scowl.
"I've noticed your crankiness, but let's face it, my dear; that's not anything new," he said, his tone teasing.
She tilted her head. "I just…" she stopped.
He looked at her questioningly.
"I miss the theatre," she admitted.
"Is television really so different?" He asked.
She stared at him. "Are you serious?"
"Of course I realize it's a different medium, but…"
She interrupted. "There's no comparison. The pacing is off, the egos are bigger—"
"And there's really only room for one ego in that studio," he deadpanned.
She curled her lip at him, but otherwise ignored the comment. "And somehow, Maxwell has convinced everyone that he knows what's going on. So they come to him, and they actually do what he tells them to do."
"And you haven't made a choreographer cry in months, poor thing," Niles said to her, and she bit back a grin.
"I'm not needed there," she said, her voice low. "And I need to be needed; I need to have a reason to go to work every day. The thrill of live theatre—a sitcom just can't compete with the rehearsals, and yes—the choreography, watching the stage transform, the adrenalin rush on opening night. I need to control those things, and I can't, not in LA."
"And you could here?" He asked, and she heard the trepidation in his voice.
"I like to think I could. I made a name for myself here, even if I was always in Maxwell's shadow. The community knows me; I would have no trouble getting backers." As she finally spoke the words aloud, she felt her confidence begin to grow. She'd been trying to suppress even the thought of New York over the past months in California, and now, here, back in her own home in her own city, she began to consider what it would mean to come back for good.
"But—you're prepared to leave Mr. Sheffield?" Niles asked, and try as he might to eradicate it, there was a bit of a wobble in his tone.
"The hardest thing would be asking you to leave him," she responded matter-of-factly, and reached for his hand, pulling it back to her hip.
He squeezed experimentally. "Leaving the Sheffields—there's only one person I'd do it for, you know."
"Have I met her?" CC asked, sighing as he caressed her thigh, drawing his knuckles from her hip to the back of her knee, and back again.
"Once or twice," he drawled, and moved to capture her lips with his own. She opened her mouth for him eagerly, and what began as a soothing gesture soon developed into something more.
CC pulled away first. "Do you really mean it? Would you be willing—"
"Babcock, my home is with you. Haven't you realized that yet? I would follow you to Timbuktu if you crooked your finger at me. If you're unhappy in LA, of course. Yes. We'll come back to New York." She suspected it cost him more than he let on to sound so blithe.
"I know it will be more difficult for you than it will be for me to leave Maxwell. And Nanny Fine and… the little ones," she added quickly. She would really only regret Maxwell, and she'd spent her thirties regretting him already. Enough was enough. She barely accepted Fran even in small doses, and the two screaming babies she could do entirely without.
"Certainly my relationship with him is the longest lasting one in my life," Niles said. "We grew up together. I've never been away from him longer than a month at a time. I don't know what they'll do without me," he finished ruefully.
"He has always relied too heavily on you; same for her. They'll just have to cope," CC said decisively, but she felt rather less bitter towards their monopoly of his time than she had an hour ago. A lightness she hadn't felt in ages settled over her, and Niles just happened to glance up in time to see it on her face.
"I'll help them hire my replacement," he said to reassure himself, and lifted his fingers to stroke her cheek. "My god, you're lovely when you're glowing like that."
She laughed. "I don't remember the last time I was this relieved," she admitted. "Thank you." She couldn't quite articulate what for.
He swallowed. "You don't have to—what else would I do? Stay there and work for a living while my sugar daddy escapes to the other side of the country?"
Narrowing her eyes, she growled, "Gold digger" and waited for his reaction.
"You know it, baby," he replied, and leaned over to kiss her.
After just a moment, she broke the contact, provoking a moan of frustration from him. "I want our daughter to be born here," she said.
"I never took you for a home birth kind of woman, but whatever you say." He tried for levity, because less than a month to inform the Sheffields, find them a new butler, and orchestrate a move from one coast to the other was unimaginable to him.
"Don't be obtuse; in the city, not in this penthouse. I can just return to my obstetrician at Lenox Hill, and—"
"Could we work out the logistics tomorrow?" He interrupted. "Give us some time to get used to the idea?"
"And I need to call my contractor. We've got walls to tear down." She continued as if he hadn't spoken, and sat up and reached for her phone. Standing, she began to pace while she scrolled through her numbers.
"It's two days before Christmas. Can it wait till the day after, at least?" Pulling the blanket around his shoulders, he walked over to the glass-paned doors that led to the balcony. CC stood there looking out into the snow that caught the lights of the city as it drifted to the ground. He wrapped his arms around her, so that she was under the warm cotton, too.
"You know what we need?" He asked, and she leaned back against his chest.
"A moving company and a realtor to sell that monstrosity in Bel Air?"
"Dinner, and a Christmas tree to decorate."
Reluctantly, she turned in his arms to face him. "You don't want to make plans now?"
"It's a lot for a man to take in," he allowed. "Ending an old life, starting a new one. I need more than five minutes to adjust to the thought of it, and my daughter needs to be fed, even if you can live on work alone."
"This doesn't feel anything like work," she paused. "You will be okay with this, won't you?" She asked.
"Yes, Babcock. Give me a day and I'll be planning how many boxes I need to pack your bloomers. But tonight, let's watch the snow and get ready for Christmas. And eat."
"Start dinner while I make two tiny phone calls?" She wheedled.
He draped the blanket over her shoulders and turned away, walking slowly towards the kitchen. As he moved down the hallway, he heard her begin to leave a message about walls and a nursery and extra office space. He shook his head and opened the refrigerator to pull out ingredients.
By the time CC emerged from the bedroom, he had finished chopping vegetables and was adding the last ones to a simmering mixture on the stove. "Smells delicious," she said, and eased herself onto the couch. With a grimace, she rubbed first one foot, then the other, trying to work out some of the soreness carrying fifty extra pounds caused.
Niles watched for a moment from his spot behind the counter, then said, "Perhaps we should look at trees tomorrow."
"Might be for the best," she said, curving her neck so he couldn't see her face.
They'd just finished eating when the doorbell rang. Niles looked at CC questioningly. "Are we expecting someone?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Whom are we expecting?" He let a little irritation slip into his voice as the bell rang again.
"Just answer the damn door before Mrs. Philpot comes over to complain about 'all that racket'," she said, mocking the woman perfectly.
When Niles pulled open the door, the delivery person was nearly lost in the greenery of the big balsam fir. "Delivery for CC Babcock," he said, smacking his gum.
Niles turned to look at his wife, a rare smile replacing the more familiar smirk. "The second phone call?" He asked.
"I do listen to some things you say, old man." With a groan, she rose to her feet and pulled a few bills from her purse. She paid the man for the tree, and within minutes, he'd set it in its stand and gone on his way.
"Now the real question is, does a Grinch such as yourself have anything with which to decorate a tree?"
"I'll have you know…" she trailed off, realizing her damnable husband was right. "That you are a hard man to satisfy."
His smirk was back. "I could say the same about you." He pulled her into his arms. "Don't worry. We'll buy some ornaments and lights tomorrow."
As the fragrant needles filled the room with the scent of the season, and snow blanketed the city, the couple sank into the soft leather of the sofa and admired their unadorned tree. CC turned towards Niles and stretched across his lap. He maneuvered a pillow beneath her head, and let his hand rest on the ever-growing baby bump.
"Not a bad start to our first Christmas together," he said, and she hummed her agreement, closing her eyes as visions of crying choreographers danced in her head.
The End