The One With The Digital Fairytale

Chapter Three

By: Jana~

*****~*****

--"Hey, Monica," the waiter caught her attention as he poked his head into the kitchen, "There's someone here who wants to compliment the chef."

Monica smiled proudly. It was like a pat on the back for all her hard work, when people would want to share a quick praise, and it was the part of the job she loved the most. After all, what was the point of cooking something if no one appreciates it?

She nodded and yanked a kitchen utility towel out of her apron ties, "Sure. Send 'em in."

She dabbed at the sweat on her brow and under her eyes before tucking the corner of the towel back where'd she gotten it, then busied herself at the stove, for appearance's sake.

She heard the sound of the door swish open, and she turned with a gracious smile. The smile changed, however, when she saw who was standing before her.

"Chandler…"

He seemed all-business, his smile courteous, but nothing more. "Ms. Geller," he greeted her somewhat-distantly, then pushed at the swinging door.

Peter Becker then entered, looking very upper-class in his undoubtedly expensive suit, an air of confidence to his stance.

"Ms. Geller," he greeted as he approached. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, like one might see in an old black-and-white movie, and Monica shifted uncomfortably as she glanced at Chandler.

His face was stony and unreadable, and she quickly moved her attention back to Peter as he addressed her.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't make lunch the other day," he apologized, "But when I heard that you were head chef here, at Alesandros, I decided to grace your establishment. I must say, your abilities as a chef are… exceptional."

Fidgeting, she stammered her reply, "Um, thanks-- thank you."

What was it about this man that set her ill-at-ease?

He acknowledged her with a slight nod. "So, listen, since our lunch date was interrupted," he continued presumptuously, "I would like to make it up to you by taking you to dinner. Say, tomorrow at seven?"

Monica looked at Chandler, who offered nothing in the way of an opinion by his expression as to what she should do.

He was awaiting a response of some kind, and his firm constant stare caused her to mutter what she knew he wanted to hear. "Sure. That sounds… fine."

"Great. I'll have my limo pick you up at 6:30?"

She forced herself not to glance at Chandler, "Alright. Sure."

Peter kissed her knuckles again, then turned to Chandler, "Get all her information, please." With that he walked out of the kitchen, leaving Monica and Chandler alone.

He offered an apologetic smile as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad and pen. "I just need your address."

She stared at him for a moment, his eyes focused on the paper in front of him, the pen poised and ready to write. When she didn't speak for several seconds, he looked up and questioned her with his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "Five-two-five, Grove Avenue, apartment 20. Corner of Bedford."

He smiled and pointed the pen at her, while in mid-writing, "Central Perk!"

Nodding, she smiled and pointed back, "You know it?"

"Oh, sure! I know someone who works there."

"Really? Who?"

"Gunther."

"Oh, yeah! Gunther! I-- I haven't seen you in there, though, right? I mean, I don't remember seeing--"

"Yeah, no, once or twice maybe? I don't really live nearby," he explained. "I swing by my local Starbucks when in the mood for foofy coffee."

She chuckled at his colorful adjective. "So, then, how do you know Gunther?"

"He's a friend of a friend of a friend," he chuckled. "You know how that goes."

He was back to the easy-going person she'd had lunch with days before, so she decided to take the risk and broach a possibly uncomfortable subject. "You seem so different when Peter Becker is around."

The smile dropped from his face and he stiffened up, his attention moving to the simple task of placing his notebook back in his jacket pocket.

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologized, seeing how her comment upset him.

"I must be going now," he stated, matter-of-fact, then turned on his heel and left.

*****

--Monica's date with Peter Becker was typical, yet unusual, all at the same time. They went out to eat, which was typical, and conversed over their meals, which was also pretty much standard, but the conversation seemed very one-sided.

He didn't seem very interested in getting to know her so much as he was interested in showing off his power and wealth.

He would ask the waiters for crazy things, chuckling at their eagerness to please him, likening their behavior to that of dogs begging for treats or their owner's approval. And any time Monica would interject something about herself into their conversations, he would always detour it back to his wealth and prestige.

She found it all to be a major turn-off, and she kept peeking at her watch discreetly, wishing for the date to hurry up and end. Then, he mentioned his name. Chandler.

She stopped tuning him out and listened to what he was saying, interested in knowing any detail, however small, about the strange man she couldn't stop thinking about.

"Speaking of Chandler," she added with as casual a voice as she could fake, "Where is he tonight? Isn't he always with you?"

"No, actually," Peter explained, "I do allow him to go home occasionally." He chuckled, finding his comment amusing. "But, he is on-call though, if I ever need him once he's gone home for the day."

She scowled, "Isn't that awfully inconvenient for him?"

Peter dismissed her question without answering it or even acknowledging it, then moved back to the topic he obviously loved… himself.

*****

--He walked her up to her apartment at the end of the date, which was nice, and gentlemanly, but all Monica wanted was for the date to be over. Him walking her home, them both standing outside her door meant the inevitable awkward moment would soon follow. The moment where he would try to kiss her.

She thanked him for dinner as she unlocked her door, and he thanked her for her company, inching towards her when she turned around to say goodnight.

Instinctively, she turned her face away, and instead of his lips touching hers, his kiss planted on her cheek. Apologetically, she smiled, and he accepted her apology with a small nod, obviously disappointed.

She thanked him one last time for dinner, then reached behind her and turned the knob, opening the door and offering herself the chance to slip inside and away from the awkwardness of the situation.

He nodded again, uncharacteristically silent, so she took that as her cue and ducked into her apartment, closing the door behind her. She paused for a moment, then for a reason she didn't quite understand, chained the door.

What did she think? That he was going to become enraged and barge into her apartment uninvited?

Actually, she wouldn't have put it past him, not because he seemed angry at her, or mean in general, but because he reminded her of the kind of person who would think he could if he so wanted.

--"Hey! How was your date?" Rachel asked as she entered the livingroom from her bedroom.

"Fine," Monica replied simply, then kicked off her shoes, leaning over to pick them up.

Rachel scoffed, "Details, Mon! Details!"

She shook her head, "There really aren't any details worth sharing."

"What? It wasn't excellent?" she half-whined. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Monica assured her. "He just… isn't my type."

"Rich isn't your type? Handsome isn't your type?"

"Rache," she countered, "That isn't the beginning and end to all ya'know. There are other things."

"Like?!" Rachel demanded to know.

"Like, a good personality! Like, chemistry!"

"There was no chemistry?"

"None," Monica replied. "Zip."

"Well, what are his interests?"

"Besides himself?" Monica quipped.

"He's self centered?"

Monica scoffed as she nodded. "You remember Chip Matthews?"

Rachel scowled in confusion, "Yeah?"

"Remember how all he wanted to talk about was inane things and himself?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, now, picture him with money."

Rachel chortled, then shook her head, "Wow. So, sorry the date didn't work out."

Monica nodded, "Yeah. Thanks."

"Well, so, now, what about Mr. Assistant?"

"Him," Monica replied as she stood in the doorway to her room, "I wouldn't mind seeing again."

*****

--Monica wasn't expecting to see Chandler on the other side of her door, it being a Saturday afternoon, but there he was. Even though dressed a little more casual than usual, with a polo-style shirt and khaki pants, she could still tell he was there on business.

He nodded as she opened the door, then extended a large gold box towards her. "These are from Mr. Becker," he informed, and she removed the box from his outstretched hands.

She opened it to find it full, with at least 2 or more dozen red roses.

Shaking her head, she stammered, "I-- I can't accept these."

"He wants you to have them," Chandler replied, holding his hand up when she tried to give the box back to him.

"Why is he doing this?"

Chandler questioned her, "Doing what?"

"The date didn't go well! I was pretty sure I conveyed to him that I wasn't interested in him in-- in that way…"

He just shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with how to respond, so she sighed exasperatedly and turned to grab a vase large enough to put them in.

"Well, come in already," she ordered, filling a large vase with water and setting it on the table.

He entered her apartment, but only by 2 or 3 steps, and she rolled her eyes as she approached him.

"I won't bite you for crying out loud!" she snipped, then took him by the arm and pulled him to stand beside her at the table. "Give me a hand with these."

They worked together to get them in the vase, then she picked it up and moved it to set it atop the desk by the large bay windows.

"This place is amazing," he complimented her. "I love the purple walls."

She chuckled, "Thanks. It was my grandma's place, before she moved to Florida. She's subletting it to me."

He nodded, then scuffed his feet on the floor, unsure of what to say next.

"You seem very loyal to Peter."

"He is my boss," he replied.

"It seems to go beyond that," she suggested. "I mean, here it is, Saturday, and you're here on an errand for him."

He gestured towards the vase with the roses, "He wanted you to have those."

"So, have a flower delivery person deliver them! Why you?"

"It's my job."

"To always be at his beck and call?"

"I'm not always at his--"

"Yes you are!" she interrupted. "He thinks of you as at his disposal 24/7!"

"I'm a good assistant," he defended himself. "He relies on me!"

"I'm not questioning your abilities as an assistant! I'm questioning, why would you want to be someone's lackey?"

"I'm not his lackey, I'm his assistant!"

"Well, do assistants usually run errands on their days off? Taking flowers to a girl his boss went out on a date with?"

"Some do!" he snipped. "And who said this was my day off?"

"You work on Saturdays?" she asked skeptically.

"Maybe," he shot back. "And why are you getting so hot with me anyway? Why are we fighting like we're some old married couple when it's Peter you are dating!?"

"I don't want to date Peter Becker," Monica informed him, her combative stance dissipating. "I-- I kinda wanted to date… you. Not Peter Becker's assistant, cause that guy is just way too stiff and uptight, but you. Chandler Bing."

There was a long pause that seemed to last forever before he finally replied. "I can't date you, Monica," he stated softly, his defensive tone also disappearing.

"Why not?" she asked. "Are you… seeing someone?"

"No."

"Are you gay?"

Smiling, he shook his head, "No."

"Then, why can't you date me? Are you just not attracted to me?"

"No…"

"Then," Monica questioned him, "What is it?"

"Peter is interested in you," was his eventual reply.

"So?"

"So… I wouldn't dare think of dating someone he has an interest in."

She scoffed, "And the fact that I have no interest in him means nothing?"

He shook his head, "I just can't Monica. It's… hard to explain. It's complicated."

"No, it's not. It's really very plain and simple. You don't dare cross the powerful Mr. Becker cause you don't wanna risk losing your job."

"It's not that simple. There's more to it than that."

"Then, what? Explain it to me."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

He sighed, running his hand through his hair, seemingly frustrated, Monica gathered.

"Look, I'm not trying to be difficult here, but, I like you. And, I've been thinking a lot about you lately. And I just thought… maybe…"

"I'm sorry," he apologized, his stare firmly planted on the floor.

"So am I," she muttered. "Sorry I mistook you for someone you're not."

He looked up, "And whom did you mistake me for?"

"Someone with character and integrity."

He chuckled grimly, "And who have you found me to be?"

She didn't answer, already feeling guilty about making the insult in the first place. She didn't want to make it worse by adding to it.

He nodded, looking away, then his stance grew rigid. "I have to be going now."

"No!" she snipped. "Don't you do that! Don't you revert to 'assistant-Chandler'! Just-- Just talk to me!"

"I don't know what to say."

"Then, answer me this," she demanded. "Tell me that you don't feel anything for me! Tell me that you're not interested in dating me, and we will never speak of this again!"

She watched him as he seemed to struggle with how to respond.

"I-- I can't--"

She didn't need to see or hear anymore. She was confident in one fact… he liked her. Two large strides was all it took to close the gap between them, and she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

He kissed back, initially, which confirmed her suspicions, but then he abruptly pulled away.

"Monica-- Monica… I can't," he panted. "I can't. Peter likes you. Peter wants to date you." He shook his head, "This can't happen."

"I don't want to date Peter," she asserted.

"That doesn't matter."

"It doesn't?" she asked incredulously.

"Not to Peter it doesn't, no."

"And what about to you?" she asked. "Does it matter to you?"

"It-- I--" he was beyond flustered, his words barely sounding like English. "I have to go."

She called out to him to stop him, but he kept walking, shaking his head as he disappeared around the corner and down the stairs. She thought about going after him, but decided against it, feeling he needed space and time to figure out what he wanted.

She could just hope that in time he would realize that what he wanted, was her.

TO BE CONTINUED…