"Can I bring you a special coffee, m'am?" Nanny Barnes asked anxiously.
C.C. set down her briefcase, sat back in the La-Z-Boy and kicked her shoes off. "That would be nice, yes."
As Nanny Barnes scurried off to prepare her drink, C.C. made tiny fists with her toes against the carpet. "For crying out loud," she thought to herself, "she's brought me the same drink every day after work for the past two months, and she still feels the need to ask."
Niles had hired the sixty-something Scottish dowager after interviewing scores of prospective nannies. Gwendolyn Barnes was widow who'd relocated to Los Angeles after the death of her husband. Her only child hadn't survived infancy, so she welcomed the opportunity to work with a baby. There was more to the story, C.C. was sure, but that was all she remembered. All that mattered to her was that Nanny Barnes spoke English, sort of, and she was grey-haired and dressed frumpily, so hopefully Niles would not cast a second glance her way. C.C. trusted Niles implicitly, but she still couldn't completely erase the picture of the young, doe-eyed, shapely Pilar that tended to the Sheffield household. And, as adverse to hiring staff as she'd been, C.C. had to admit that it was wonderful to sleep through the night and know that Nanny Barnes was tending to Prudi when she cried.
Nanny Barnes set the steaming mug down in front of C.C. It was her own special concoction – a shot of whiskey, an equal shot of maple syrup, hot coffee, all topped with whipped cream. She hadn't had an alcoholic drink since she'd first discovered she was pregnant, but now, even though she was still nursing, her doctor had told her that one small drink probably wouldn't be harmful, so she allowed herself this after-work treat. "Hell," she thought to herself, "my own mother had Bloody Marys for breakfast when she was expecting me, and I turned out O.K." She grinned at that thought, imagining Niles' snarky reply had he heart it.
"How's Prudi? Is she still napping? Anything happen today?" C.C. asked after a long sip of coffee.
"Aye, she was a right angel today," Mrs. Barnes smiled. "She's using her sippy cup like a pro, and you should see her grasping at her toys. I think red's her favorite color, it is."
"I'm going to peek in on her and get changed," C.C. said, standing up and stretching.
"Dinner is in 'alf an hour," Nanny Barnes told her. "Mr. Niles had everything all fixed before he left for class and only left it for me to turn on the cooker."
C.C. bent over her daughter's crib. She couldn't help but smile as she watched her daughter slumber, on fist tucked under her chin. "She's getting so big," she thought. As if sensing her mother's presence, the babe sighed heavily and turned her face toward C.C. C.C. ever so gently reached over and stroked Prudi's head. After a few minutes, she retreated to her bedroom and changed into casual clothes.
C.C. returned to the den and her coffee. When Nanny Barnes scurried by, C.C. intercepted her and inquired, "Did Niles say when he'd be home?"
"He's got his class tonight, m'am," Gwen explained.
C.C. resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I know that," she replied. "But he's late, even with his class." As a rule, Niles had always made it home before C.C. But this was the third time in a month that he'd been extraordinarily late. Not that she was keeping track, of course.
"Maybe he had to stay after school," Gwendolyn chuckled, scooping up C.C.'s empty mug. "Would you like some more coffee, m'am?"
"No, I'm fine, thanks," C.C. replied. She secretly hated the little thoughts that were nudging at the back of her mind. Maybe traffic has just been bad lately. That's why he's late. And Maxwell, too. They've both been caught up in heavy traffic…."
"M'am you've got visitors," Nanny Barnes announced as Fran pushed past her, with Grace trailing behind.
"C.C., you got a minute? I want to go over these hotel arrangements with you…"
C.C. suppressed a sigh. By one delaying tactic or another, she'd been able to deflect Nanny Fine's wedding preparations for a couple of months, but now she was running out of excuses. And Max had been on her back to cooperate – Fran needed to apply her something, he said.
"I'm sure whatever you've worked out is fine," C.C. tried to placate Fran. Then she actually took the time to look at the piece of paper Fran was thrusting her way. She saw some familiar names – particularly her mother, father and brother on the list.
"What what?" C.C. asked, shaking her head in confusion.
"What do you mean, what?" Fran replied.
"I mean, what is this about my mother and father, and Noel, on your list? They don't even know about me and Niles."
At that point C.C. noticed Grace trying to shrink and hide behind Fran. "They don't know about me and Niles, do they?" she asked pointedly.
Grace cleared her throat and fumbled for a moment. "Well…..you know all those times I babysat for you, you left your address book by the phone…."
"That book was for emergencies," C.C. responded evenly.
"Well, I couldn't help it if Fran asked me for a few phone numbers while I was here," Grace mumbled, looking at her feet.
"You don't mean to say you actually…."
"Yes," Fran beamed, "your mother, dad, and brother are all gonna be here!"
"Oh my goodness…." C.C. sank back into the couch cushions.
"Sorry I'm late!" Niles' voice heralded from the distance.
He walked into the den and took in the tableau that greeted him. "What goes on?" he asked.
"Ask Fran," C.C. said, her shoulders limp in defeat.
"Oh, Niles, I'm glad you're here," Fran interjected. "Do you think your parents will be OK with a room with a king bed instead of a suite?"
Niles shook his head as if to comprehend. "What? You've been in contact with my parents?"
"Of course! They can't wait to see their granddaughter. Now, about the hotel room…."
Niles glanced helplessly at C.C. She shrugged in response.
"A king room will be OK," Niles told Fran.
"And I guess my relatives will all require rooms of their own," C.C. added, more to end the discussion than anything else.
Fran didn't catch C.C.'s disdain and continued eagerly on from her list. "We've got the chapel booked for the 24th. If you don't have a dress by the 15th, let me know. I've got a cousin who can get you a fabulous number wholesale. Do you have a color preference for flowers? Otherwise Ma knows someone in the business…." The rest of her words were lost on C.C., who was still stuck on the fact that her family was coming to see her. Her family that apparently knew she was married, but probably didn't know her groom was a butler. Oy, she thought to herself. This is why she had married Niles secretly and quietly. No snarky comments from the peanut gallery, just a quick ceremony to make it legal between her and the man she loved.
The TV studio was C.C.'s safe haven these days – a retreat from the endless wedding preparations, and – she hated to admit it – the never ending demands of motherhood. She didn't quite understand it. When she'd first come home from the hospital with Prudi, she couldn't spend enough time with her. Even waking up several times during the night didn't distress her; she loved spending every moment she could with her daughter. But, for some reason, the past several weeks had been different. Was it because Prudi was no longer breastfeeding? Was it because work was more demanding since Maxwell never seemed to be around? Was it because Niles was spending more time away studying for his bar exam? Whatever the reason, lately C.C. felt absolutely exhausted by the time she got home from work. Maybe it was the commute; she'd never been this tired in New York, traveling between Maxwell's home and her apartment.
Despite her fatigue, she still relished her work and kept the sitcom on its toes. She sunk her teeth into the negotiations between ego-inflated stars and their agents, and used her contacts to land some big-name guest stars. In many ways she missed New York; Hollywood was certainly a different pace, a different lifestyle, and C.C. often secretly lost patience with the laid-back attitude of the television studio and its employees.
"I really thought I'd never see the day when someone showed up for a business luncheon wearing a tank top," C.C. said to Niles over dinner one evening.
Niles chuckled. "You really miss Broadway, don't you?"
"Well, I certainly miss a certain business sensibility. I mean, in New York, you wouldn't get seated at most of your finer restaurants in a tank top." She shuddered involuntarily at the thought.
"Are you feeling OK?" Niles asked. "You've been looking a little pale lately."
"Oh, bite me. If I'm pale, it's because of these microwaved dinners you've been feeding me every time you come home late."
He stood up and gave an elaborate bow. "My apologies for excessive studying in the attempt of bettering myself."
"Oh, Niles, you know I don't mean it," C.C. sighed, physically exhausted and mentally befuddled. "There's just so much going on…between the show, your bar exam, Fran and this stoooopid wedding, me meeting your parents, and my family coming….for heaven's sake," she buried her face in her arms, "it's too much to bear."
Niles pulled C.C. up to his chest and curled over her. "Everything will work out, you'll see." He stroked her head, but was secretly concerned. He'd noticed that C.C. seemed to tire easily these days. Nanny Barnes used to have to almost forcefully take Prudi from C.C.'s arms to put her to bed at night, but lately, C.C. gave Prudi some perfunctory attention after dinner and then conked out on the sofa. He made a mental note to ask C.C.'s neurologist about this, and see if perhaps some tests were in order.