"Fucking playboy actors, CC? What are her nursery school teachers going to think of me?" Sara's amusement threatened to overcome her indignation as she and CC sat having afternoon tea in the solarium.
CC smirked at her friend and dropped a sugar cube into her hand painted teacup. "That you have a much more interesting life than they previously imagined."
Sara laughed out loud and sipped at her drink. "Meanwhile, tell me what brought that comment on. And do try to limit the profanity around the children, would you?"
"I told you about George, didn't I?" CC asked breezily. "He thought his mediocre, ah, performance would earn him a raise."
"Oh, CC, you slept with him?" Since marrying Maxwell, Sara seemed not to remember that she, too, had had a few adventures as a single woman. Her disapproval was clear.
CC scowled. "Do you hear yourself? Have you forgotten Bryn Mawr? And Haverford?" She waggled her eyebrows. "Of course I slept with him." She shrugged. "Why wouldn't I have?" She relaxed back into her chair, recrossing her legs.
Sara elected not to question her professionalism. She had never known CC to respond well to criticism. "Well, you know what I think about you and—"
"That," CC cut her off, "is never going to happen." She popped a butter cookie into her mouth and savored the subtle taste of it. "How many times do I have to ask you to stop bringing it up?"
"As many times as I have to ask you not to teach the children about fucking playboy actors, I guess," Sara responded, winking at CC.
CC laughed and raised her teacup in a salute, changing the topic to a simply exquisite boutique she had found the other day.
As the conversation drifted away from anything noteworthy, Niles flipped the switch on the intercom and sat down at the kitchen table, munching absent-mindedly on one of his butter cookies. Babcock always cut off conversations when they got interesting. It was like she knew he was listening with bated breath. He resolved to find out just what Mrs. Sheffield meant about Miss Babcock and… someone. Poor man, he thought to himself. The vicious blonde would eat him alive. He didn't let himself think too much about George. Even silently, he attached disdain to the name. If Niles ever got a chance with Babcock, she certainly wouldn't call his performance mediocre, no sir. Not that he'd tolerate being that close to such a harpy. Shaking his head as if to clear it of such awful thoughts, Niles rose to go check on the children.
Miss Margaret was in the living room, watching a cartoon about singing rabbits on television. Master Brighton was in his room, the small hand-held video game he'd received earlier that week consuming all his attention. And Miss Grace, who from her earliest moments had never been in need of electronic entertainment, sat at the child-sized table in the playroom, clutching a yellow crayon and leaning determinedly over a piece of white construction paper
Niles stood in the hall watching her for a moment, and felt a tug in the vicinity of his heart as she bit down on her tongue, a mark of concentration if ever there was one. He took a step into the room, and she turned to him as his weight caused the wood floors to creak.
"Niles!" She exclaimed, and ran to him, abandoning her work.
He leaned down and pulled her into his arms for a hug, then asked her seriously, "How are you, Miss Grace?"
She took his hand and pulled him over to the table. Picking up the paper, she held it out to him proudly.
Niles reached for it, and cocked his head to the side as he studied the drawing. Squiggles in black and blue, with a lot of yellow near the top. "Oh, very nice," he praised, and wondered if he should ask what she had drawn, or if that would offend the little artist.
"Hi, baby," Sara said, walking into the playroom. CC, who had been striding down the hallway with her, peered into the room from a safe distance. Grace let go of Niles's hand and went to her mother, who picked her up and dropped a kiss on her soft hair.
"Mama, pitcher," the little girl said, pointing to the paper Niles still held in his hand. He raised it so Mrs. Sheffield could see.
"What is it, sweetie?" She asked, tilting her head just as Niles had done.
Grace, her lower lip jutting in a pout, caught sight of CC lingering in the hallway, and said "Babcock," reaching her arms towards her.
Sara laughed and eyed Niles. "Did you teach her to call CC that?"
Niles raised his hands, palms outward. "I certainly did not. I try never to speak her name, Mrs. Sheffield," he responded in a stage whisper, shivering for effect.
CC narrowed her eyes. "I'm just surprised he didn't teach her to call me something much worse," she grumbled, walking reluctantly into the playroom.
"I leave the lessons in profanity to the master," he retorted, and CC hid a smile.
Sara watched them with interest, and when CC caught her expression, she said, "Oh no, don't you even start with me," and moved to leave the room.
Grace let out a wail and strained to reach for CC, and Sara called to her friend. "Won't you hold her, just for a moment? She's perfectly clean, hasn't had the sniffles in weeks, and you're wearing black today."
"Sara, I—" CC began to excuse herself, but as soon as she turned around, she found her arms full of a wriggly little girl whose wails turned immediately to gurgles of delight.
"Babcock!" Grace exclaimed again, tangling her fingers in CC's long blonde hair.
CC groaned, and reached to loosen the baby's grip. Just as she grasped her little hand, Grace began to say "Fu—"
Hurriedly, CC pointed to the construction paper Niles still held and said, "What did you draw?"
Grace looked where CC pointed, and said, "Pitcher" before turning to grin adoringly at CC.
"Yes, a picture. What's it of?" CC asked again, and took it out of Niles's hand.
Grace pointed from the scribbles to CC, and said "Babcock."
Sara looked at the picture then back at CC holding her daughter. "CC darling, I think she drew you."
"Where has the child's odd fixation on you come from, Babs?" Niles asked, taking in her sloppy hold on Grace. The little girl was in danger of slipping out of her arms. Niles walked over, plucking the drawing from her grip and handing it to Mrs. Sheffield with one final glance at it. Then he manually repositioned Miss Babcock's hands so that she supported the baby's weight properly before he left the room.
"What's eating him?" CC directed the question at Sara, and looked down at Grace, who had wrapped her legs around her waist and nestled her head against her chest. "Although he does have a point. Why on earth does your daughter like me?"
"What's not to like?" Sara laughed off the question.
"Could you take her? I have work to do." And I'm supremely uncomfortable, she added silently, not wanting to offend Sara but equally unwilling to maintain her hold on the kid.
"It's about time for her nap, anyway," Sara agreed. "Here, trade me," she said, collecting her daughter and handing CC the crayon drawing.
CC wondered what the peculiar feeling was that overtook her as she looked at the messy picture. Though she was sure she would toss it as soon as she left the mansion, she took extra care as she placed the thick piece of paper in her briefcase when she got downstairs.