Just One Look
By Valma
Part 13: The Deja Blues
Daphne's Diary
Dear Diary:
What the bloody hell am I going to do now?
I got bobbinsed yesterday and made a right mess of things. That's what drinking about seven Bloody Mary's will do to you!
Of course it's really just an excuse - blaming the booze for my behaviour of late because I have managed to make a balls up of just about everything recently, even without drinking, haven't I?
And it all centers around him --- Dr. Crane.
I thought I could handle it. I thought I had got a grip on all those questions and qualms.
I was wrong.
After Christmas, things went smoothly for a while. New Years came and went and Donny and I had a lovely time with my Uncle Jackie in San Francisco. We stayed for about a week, visiting Chinatown and going up Coit Tower, taking the cable cars - you know, doing all those tourist things because Donny had never been to "Frisco" before.
Only once did I think of Dr. Crane. It was when we went on a bus tour of the Sonoma Valley. Mainly it was just an excuse to get out of the city for the day, see the surrounding countryside and let someone do the driving while we got to drink samples along the way. Late in the afternoon one of the establishments we drove pass was the "Face of the Moon" winery. We didn't even stop in - it wasn't on the itinerary, so within a few minutes it was long past on the roadside, obscured in the glare of the bright sunlight on the bus window. Donny was droning on, reading the guidebook. My mind took the opportunity to travel effortlessly back to several years ago when Dr. Crane had offered to help me shop for a list of gourmet kitchen gadgets that his brother had instructed me to scour the city for ---
We decided to break for lunch finally and stopped into a small, rather run- of-the-mill restaurant to refresh ourselves before striking out again to find the final item, a truffle slicer of all things. He was the one who noticed that one of the wines on the list was called "Visage de la Lune". He insisted that we order a glass of it - his treat, he said bubbling with his own kind of uniquely shy enthusiasm - and after only one quick sip he declared it to be "a memorable vintage, thoroughly enchanting and delightful in every way - just like its namesake". I laughed it off at the time and teased him about his flattery, but now I truly understood. It wasn't just idle chatter. He was presenting that little tribute just for me, honoring me with his words, it was a token of his affection --- he was giving me a cherished gift straight from his heart. One that he knew I would never probably acknowledge or even be aware of. That didn't matter, he wanted to do it all the same. He didn't really like that overpriced glass of mediocre table wine, any more than he liked the dried out chicken and overcooked veggies. But he did like just spending time with me - it wasn't what we were doing that counted, it was the fact that we were doing it together. He just wanted to be near me, to talk to me, to hear my laughter and watch me eat my food. And he wanted to see me smile and respond, in even the smallest way, to the attention that he was bestowing on me that sunny afternoon in Seattle so many years ago ---
"Daphne, is something wrong sweetie?"
Donny's voice trespassed into my memories.
"Are you --- are you crying?"
I didn't have an answer for him. I didn't have an answer for myself. I quickly brushed the tear from the corner of my eye.
"Oh Donny, it's just a bit of dust, that's all. Don't worry. There - see? I'm all better now. So, what's the next winery we go to --- "
And that was the last I thought of him for the rest of the trip.
But it wasn't over - it was just beginning.
A few weeks later, Dr. Crane asked me to help him prepare a meal for Mel. He seemed slightly reluctant at first, but tried to be as casual as possible - apologizing profoundly about intruding in on my time. He caught me off guard. I couldn't think of a plausible excuse why I shouldn't help him prepare "Blanquette de Veau" that afternoon, so I just said that I'd be glad to aid him in that task.
It started out so well. We were having such fun, he was joshing me, being terribly witty and I was playfully ribbing him about how fussy he was in the kitchen. Then he started to "play act", as if he was a surgeon and I was the assisting nurse. There was a breezy attitude about him that I hadn't seen in him since the day that Donny and I met. I don't know why --- maybe he was just in his element in the kitchen; being tastefully creative and yet carrying out the precision needed to achieve the desired result. Perhaps it was just that he was happy ---finally happy that he had found someone for whom he could cook for --- someone who would truly appreciate his efforts --- Mel. Or possibly it was that we cracked open a bottle of wine to cook with and found that more of it made its way into our glasses than into the recipe. Whatever it was, his good mood was contagious and it made for a jolly afternoon. Just as we were finishing up though, he happened to burn himself on the handle of one of the copper pans we had used. I could tell he was suffering a bit more than he let on, putting on a brave "male" façade. He even cracked a mild joke about leaving a "protective layer of his skin" on the handle, but I could see a grimace on his face as I took his injured hand and began to spread the aloe cream on it.
"Just give it a minute to absorb."
I was just trying to be as gentle as possible as I applied the salve to his raw, blistering skin, when I suddenly realised that this was the first close physical contact I had had with him since I found out about his feelings for me. We were standing only inches apart. I could feel his breath fall on my wrists as he leaned back against the counter and let me administer first aid to him. I could smell his cologne - the spicy scent mixing with the odour of the medication. My fingers trailed across his warm hand, massaging the healing cream in. Even though I didn't look up, I knew those slate-blue eyes of his were watching me carefully, following my every movement. My mind drifted a bit as I felt the flesh and bone of those long, sensitive fingers. I could imagine those hands holding mine with a tenderness and a strength that was as alluring to me at that moment as any romantic gesture had ever been. I wondered what it would be like to have those talented "instruments" of his, those dexterous digits, play upon my body, like the piano keyboard that I had seen him skillfully traverse on countless rainy afternoons when he visited. I felt myself laboring to control an impulse to kiss that soft, supple hand, to hold it up to my face so that he could sense my pulse and know that the blood coursing through my veins could beat with a passion too.
"Hey, what's up?"
Mr. Crane might as well as have put an ice cube down the back of my shirt.
Almost flinging aside the injured hand that I had not minutes ago so carefully cradled I blurted out some ridiculous gibberish and rushed out of the room in a flood of guilt and self-recrimination.
I didn't even grasp that I had grabbed the egg timer with me, in a panic when I took flight until I slammed my bedroom door behind me and flung myself on the bed. I smashed the timer to the floor and buried my head in a pillow. What was I doing? I was practically a married woman, for God's sake! It was disgusting --- wasn't it? I was having erotic thoughts about a man that I had called "friend" for over six years!
But I knew it was more than that --- it wasn't just the sensuousness of the touch of his hand --- it was more, much more. And that was what, in fact, scared me most of all. Part of me wanted to take a chair and block the door so that even if Dr. Crane tried, he couldn't come in to ask me to explain what had just happened. The other part of me wanted to open the door and call out his name - invite him in to explore the uncharted directions that would result from such a bold and decisive move.
I waited for quite a while, listening intently for a gentle, polite knocking on the wooden frame of my door, but none came. After an hour, I quietly got up and made my way out into the living room.
Mr. Crane was watching a ball game on the telly. Dr. Crane was nowhere in sight.
"Donny called, Daph and said that he would be swinging by here to pick you up in about a half an hour."
Funny, I hadn't even heard the telephone ring.
"You two going out this evening?"
"Umm, yes --- yes we are." I had completely forgotten. My voice was ragged and sounded on edge. I slipped into the kitchen and got a bottle of water to ease the dryness in my throat. All evidence of our little "cooking lesson" had been cleaned up and there wasn't a trace that he had even been in the apartment at all, let alone of what had actually transpired that afternoon. Maybe it hadn't really happened after all? Maybe I was imagining the whole --- I spotted the aloe cream jar tucked neatly into a corner of the counter. Yes, it really had taken place. I deposited the irrefutable proof back in the cupboard where it belonged, made a mental note that I had better replace the timer before Frasier discovered its absence and returned to the living room.
"So, where you off to?"
I felt like saying "Mind your own bloomin' business you old sod!" but I realized that it was really just polite conversation he was making, so I chose "Dinner and a show" instead.
Mr. Crane just grunted and I gathered my purse and coat and sat on the couch waiting for Donny to arrive. I felt exhausted. I just couldn't handle all these feelings that had started to invade me ever since that fateful afternoon when I massaged Frasier and he had let the cat out of the bag. So I just pushed the chaos and doubts aside for now - I would examine them later. That's what I would do all right --- I'd look at my predicament later, when I just wasn't so tired.
"Are you O.K., Daphne?"
"Yes, I'm fine," I said simply and left it at that, but I knew I wasn't. And I think Mr. Crane knew I wasn't too. But if it is one thing I can count on, it is for Mr. Crane to not probe too deeply into my "intimate" affairs. That, thank goodness, is just his way.
Unfortunately it isn't my way - especially if I have "had a few brews".
Which brings me to my current dilemma. You see, "later" never came and my quandary wasn't solved at all - it just got bigger.
Dr. Crane had been anxiously wanting to "present" Mel formally to the family, so they could get to know her better and his brother suggested a brunch get-together as a good way to break the ice.
I had been nervous about this right from the start, to tell you the truth. So goosey in fact, that it had taken me about an hour and a half, and a whole Valium just to find the right ensemble to wear. I finally settled on my chic dark red Chinese silk skirt and a simple black form-fitting top. It was just sheer coincidence, I realized later, that that particular outfit accentuated my height around petite Mel. Didn't cross my mind earlier, though - I swear.
Roz and I planned on serving Bloody Marys and a fritata, along with coffee and pastries from Le Cigaré Volant. You know - the usual brunch fare.
Well, this little "get together" was anything but usual, let me tell you!
Right from the moment that her majesty "Queen Mel" waltzed in she was lording it over everyone, making curt comments and insinuations - it took her all of about 10 minutes to alienate everyone in the room. The drinks were too strong, the food was too cheesy, the pastries were too fatty, the coffee was too bitter, the dog was too "doggy" - the list went on and on. Of course Dr. Crane couldn't see any of this. He was gushing like a schoolboy over every word she said. Giggling at her inane twittering about how she was an expert at spotting the physical faults in others. I had to have two drinks in quick succession just to keep from slapping her cow face after she said that most tall women often suffer from inferiority complexes!
Finally we were all put out of our misery when Mel was beeped and had to leave on short notice. I didn't even know that plastic surgeons had "on call" emergencies. I suspect that she had arranged the whole thing when she slipped into the powder room - it was just another way for her to irritate and insult Frasier. You didn't need a crystal ball to see that she sensed that he was steamed about her manipulating his brother into running for the wine club presidency and stealing his thunder.
That was such a cheap way to make Dr. Crane feel good about himself, when you think about it. It doesn't take much to push his rivalry buttons when it comes to his brother and I think she is smart enough to realize that eventually if she pressed too hard it would backfire and drive more a wedge between them. But then maybe that is what she hoped to accomplish - if Frasier and him weren't so close, he would rely more on her for support and eventually he would be totally dependant on just her for his emotional sustenance. She could have him completely within her power, to mold him any way she envisioned him --- just like that witch of a wife of his had done with him. Mel was just a kinder, gentler version of Maris. A velvet hammer instead of an iron one. In the end she will be just as destructive - there just won't be as many obvious bruises.
Well, anyway, all hell broke loose after "Lady Macbeth" left.
Dr. Crane made the mistake of asking everyone what they thought of Mel and I guess I was the culprit that got the ball rolling.
"Oh, I don't like her at all! She's bossy and fussy and mean. She's all wrong for you!"
Yeah, that's what too many Bloody Marys and being out of the room when Mr. Crane issued his stern warning about everyone keeping their mouths shut, can do for you all right!
Of course the liquid courage that I had consumed allowed me the luxury of not really giving a tinker's damn at the time about how Dr. Crane, or anyone else for that matter, viewed my little critique of Mel Karnofsky that afternoon.
It just snowballed from there and soon Dr. Crane had had his fill of all of us bad-mouthing his girlfriend and left in a huff, slamming the door behind him.
Can't really blame him.
It really didn't hit me until later, when the alcohol had worn off, how hurt he must have been. Our approval of her must have meant something to him or he never would have asked for it in the first place, so to hear such an onslaught of scorn about someone he cared about must have wounded him deeply.
I don't take back my opinion of Mel - I do think she is all wrong for him, but I also think I would have worded it a bit more carefully if I had a second chance --- and I hadn't been quite so sozzled. I think we all would have been more discreet if we could have a "do over" --- well, everyone except Roz.
And while we are on the topic of doing things differently I also have come to the conclusion that I have to start controlling myself a bit more. These bouts of wild imaginings that I have been having about Dr. Crane have to come to an end. It's quite obvious that he and Mel are an "item" now and --- and Donny and I will be married before the year is out, so there is something more than just a little wrong with my behavior as of late. All these daydreams and fantasies about Dr. Crane, about how it would feel to be in his arms and the touch of his lips on my body as we made --- well, it just has to stop! It's just not right! Donny has done nothing to deserve such shabby treatment from me and Dr. Crane hasn't encouraged me in any way.
It's all me.
I'm the one causing all the trouble - for myself and for Dr. Crane. What do I hope to accomplish with putting on a performance like I did today or when we cooked together? Or the unbridled thoughts of him I have at night, when I'm alone in my bed --- and once, just once mind you - once when Donny and I had finished making love. I admit, I thought --- what would it be like to lie next to "him" --- Niles? Yes, I call him Niles at times like that. I can so clearly see now that he is a man, not just good, old friendly Dr. Crane, but Niles --- a passionate man with shy, alluring sensitivities. And that's why I have to stop! By thinking as him as "Niles" in my own mind, I'm breaking down the barriers that should be between us. He has to remain Dr. Crane to me. If he becomes "Niles" I don't have a chance --- and what's worse, neither does Donny.
And if I destroy what I have with Donny, I may end up with nothing - no Donny, no Niles and --- and no Dr. Crane.
And that is truly scary.
'Night.
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* My Journal Through Life - Niles Crane
I forgave Daphne first.
I couldn't help it, of course. Even though she only left one apology on my voice mail and Frasier left about a half a dozen.
As soon as I heard her voice on the machine I knew I would acquiesce to her plea.
"Dr. Crane, it's Daphne here. I am soooo sorry for what I said on that Sunday. There's no excuse for my behavior and I know I haven't got a right to expect you to forgive me, but I hope you will."
I clicked off the machine and whispered, "You're forgiven." I could never stay truly angry with her for very long. Especially when I could hear the nervous quiver in her voice as she spoke. It sounded like she was about to cry.
And then I realized that if I had forgiven her, then I had to pardon Frasier and Dad as well. It only made sense - I couldn't go over and speak to Daphne and ignore my own flesh and blood, could I?
Roz was the last to receive my mental absolution as I sat listening to their recorded mea culpas. I know Frasier put her up to the phone call --- I could hear him in the background nudging her on. But I know she probably meant it - we're supposed to hate each other, but we don't. It's all an act really.
What wasn't an act though, were the stinging indictments of the guest of honor that they all delivered after Frasier's little soiree for Mel a week ago Sunday.
The things they said about Mel were --- very hurtful - inexcusable really.
"Bossy."
"Gigantic pain in the ass!"
"Manipulative."
"Demanding."
"Pushy."
"Mean."
"She's Maris all over again."
I think that's all of them --- oh, wait there's "Fussy," but that's not really an insult, although it was meant to be.
To be fair, I did ask them to be candid and tell me what they honestly thought of her. So in a way, when one couches it in those terms, you haven't got a right to complain if the answer isn't the one you like. That being said, they might have found it to have been more evenhanded in their analysis and at least made a genuine effort to think of at least one positive remark to say.
But what's done is done and I guess they'll just have to learn to tolerate Mel, or modify their attitudes once they get to know her better, because I'm not going to let their erroneous, petty opinions of a perfectly lovely woman spoil my relationship with her. At this point in my life all my emotional hopes are riding on Mel and I can't afford to abandon ship, so to speak.
I just thank God that Mel isn't aware of their collective verdict of her. If she were ever to catch wind of it, I could easily foresee a situation like I had with Maris and Frasier had with Lilith - everyone tiptoeing around the unstated yet obvious atmosphere of antagonism. I know Maris just handled it by avoiding my family as much as possible. I don't think I could go through a repeat of that. I need my family and friends just as much as I need Mel.
Even though Frasier has disappointed me with his latest assessment of Mel, he has been a great comfort to me recently - helping me sort through some confusing signals that I thought was getting from Daphne a while back.
You see I solicited her assistance to cook a birthday dinner for Mel with me and everything was going very --- well, cordially and then I happened to clumsily burn my hand. In her naturally nurturing way, she quickly saw to it that I received the appropriate treatment, putting some medicated cream on the injury. But while she was rubbing my hand, she seemed to become totally distracted and lost in thought. It was as if she was mesmerized by --- by something. When Dad interrupted her, she nearly jumped on the countertop and then rushed out of the kitchen in a complete fluster. At first I have to admit I had a sudden rush of exhilaration - could she actually have feelings for me? Why else would she react with so much mortification when Dad had blundered in unannounced - could she have been thinking forbidden thoughts --- about me? I was tempted to go to her and inquire about what had just happened. It was the first time I ever had so much as the slightest indication that she might just --- just feel something genuine for me. But instead I rushed off to see Frasier at Nervosa to get his thoughts on the situation. And thank goodness I did. He quickly assured me I had totally misinterpreted her actions. He rightly reminded me that it could simply be that since Mel and I were growing closer I might be a bit reluctant about making a commitment to a woman again. After the pain I had suffered at the hands of Maris, I might very well be using this incident as an excuse to avoid the chance of risking further heartache if things didn't work out with Mel. On hearing this I knew he was right. To think - if I had confronted Daphne I would have appeared the perfect fool to her - and more than just a bit insulting. To suggest that she was entertaining ideas of lusting after me when in reality she was only a month or two away from the alter would have led to all sorts of unthinkable unpleasantness. Frasier very much saved me an untold amount of embarrassment by his wise counsel. But that's what brothers are for I guess.
And that's why I am going to find that book on Nietzsche that I borrowed from Frasier at Christmas time and drive over to his place and return it as a gesture of a return to normalcy. It's time to move on. It will be awkward at first --- I've boycotted the Elliot Bay Towers and Nervosa for almost two weeks now to make my point, but I'm sure they will realize what is really going on and then everything will be back the way it was - well almost. It may take a bit more time after that, but things will come around eventually.
I know them --- they'll come through for me in the end.
I can depend on that, for sure.
Adieu.
P.S. Completely unrelated, yesterday Donny has asked me to help him organize a bridal shower for Daphne. When he said, "help" I think he meant that I have free rein to do as I see fit. As he put it, "What would I know about throwing that sort of thing?" He says that he figured that sort of thing is "right up my alley". I really don't know if I should be complimented or miffed at the implications of that statement, but I agreed immediately to arrange it, of course. I think it will help me prepare mentally for the looming wedding more easily. And I will need all the bolstering I can get for to handle that little upcoming event.
Stay tuned for Part 14 (to be continued)
By Valma
Part 13: The Deja Blues
Daphne's Diary
Dear Diary:
What the bloody hell am I going to do now?
I got bobbinsed yesterday and made a right mess of things. That's what drinking about seven Bloody Mary's will do to you!
Of course it's really just an excuse - blaming the booze for my behaviour of late because I have managed to make a balls up of just about everything recently, even without drinking, haven't I?
And it all centers around him --- Dr. Crane.
I thought I could handle it. I thought I had got a grip on all those questions and qualms.
I was wrong.
After Christmas, things went smoothly for a while. New Years came and went and Donny and I had a lovely time with my Uncle Jackie in San Francisco. We stayed for about a week, visiting Chinatown and going up Coit Tower, taking the cable cars - you know, doing all those tourist things because Donny had never been to "Frisco" before.
Only once did I think of Dr. Crane. It was when we went on a bus tour of the Sonoma Valley. Mainly it was just an excuse to get out of the city for the day, see the surrounding countryside and let someone do the driving while we got to drink samples along the way. Late in the afternoon one of the establishments we drove pass was the "Face of the Moon" winery. We didn't even stop in - it wasn't on the itinerary, so within a few minutes it was long past on the roadside, obscured in the glare of the bright sunlight on the bus window. Donny was droning on, reading the guidebook. My mind took the opportunity to travel effortlessly back to several years ago when Dr. Crane had offered to help me shop for a list of gourmet kitchen gadgets that his brother had instructed me to scour the city for ---
We decided to break for lunch finally and stopped into a small, rather run- of-the-mill restaurant to refresh ourselves before striking out again to find the final item, a truffle slicer of all things. He was the one who noticed that one of the wines on the list was called "Visage de la Lune". He insisted that we order a glass of it - his treat, he said bubbling with his own kind of uniquely shy enthusiasm - and after only one quick sip he declared it to be "a memorable vintage, thoroughly enchanting and delightful in every way - just like its namesake". I laughed it off at the time and teased him about his flattery, but now I truly understood. It wasn't just idle chatter. He was presenting that little tribute just for me, honoring me with his words, it was a token of his affection --- he was giving me a cherished gift straight from his heart. One that he knew I would never probably acknowledge or even be aware of. That didn't matter, he wanted to do it all the same. He didn't really like that overpriced glass of mediocre table wine, any more than he liked the dried out chicken and overcooked veggies. But he did like just spending time with me - it wasn't what we were doing that counted, it was the fact that we were doing it together. He just wanted to be near me, to talk to me, to hear my laughter and watch me eat my food. And he wanted to see me smile and respond, in even the smallest way, to the attention that he was bestowing on me that sunny afternoon in Seattle so many years ago ---
"Daphne, is something wrong sweetie?"
Donny's voice trespassed into my memories.
"Are you --- are you crying?"
I didn't have an answer for him. I didn't have an answer for myself. I quickly brushed the tear from the corner of my eye.
"Oh Donny, it's just a bit of dust, that's all. Don't worry. There - see? I'm all better now. So, what's the next winery we go to --- "
And that was the last I thought of him for the rest of the trip.
But it wasn't over - it was just beginning.
A few weeks later, Dr. Crane asked me to help him prepare a meal for Mel. He seemed slightly reluctant at first, but tried to be as casual as possible - apologizing profoundly about intruding in on my time. He caught me off guard. I couldn't think of a plausible excuse why I shouldn't help him prepare "Blanquette de Veau" that afternoon, so I just said that I'd be glad to aid him in that task.
It started out so well. We were having such fun, he was joshing me, being terribly witty and I was playfully ribbing him about how fussy he was in the kitchen. Then he started to "play act", as if he was a surgeon and I was the assisting nurse. There was a breezy attitude about him that I hadn't seen in him since the day that Donny and I met. I don't know why --- maybe he was just in his element in the kitchen; being tastefully creative and yet carrying out the precision needed to achieve the desired result. Perhaps it was just that he was happy ---finally happy that he had found someone for whom he could cook for --- someone who would truly appreciate his efforts --- Mel. Or possibly it was that we cracked open a bottle of wine to cook with and found that more of it made its way into our glasses than into the recipe. Whatever it was, his good mood was contagious and it made for a jolly afternoon. Just as we were finishing up though, he happened to burn himself on the handle of one of the copper pans we had used. I could tell he was suffering a bit more than he let on, putting on a brave "male" façade. He even cracked a mild joke about leaving a "protective layer of his skin" on the handle, but I could see a grimace on his face as I took his injured hand and began to spread the aloe cream on it.
"Just give it a minute to absorb."
I was just trying to be as gentle as possible as I applied the salve to his raw, blistering skin, when I suddenly realised that this was the first close physical contact I had had with him since I found out about his feelings for me. We were standing only inches apart. I could feel his breath fall on my wrists as he leaned back against the counter and let me administer first aid to him. I could smell his cologne - the spicy scent mixing with the odour of the medication. My fingers trailed across his warm hand, massaging the healing cream in. Even though I didn't look up, I knew those slate-blue eyes of his were watching me carefully, following my every movement. My mind drifted a bit as I felt the flesh and bone of those long, sensitive fingers. I could imagine those hands holding mine with a tenderness and a strength that was as alluring to me at that moment as any romantic gesture had ever been. I wondered what it would be like to have those talented "instruments" of his, those dexterous digits, play upon my body, like the piano keyboard that I had seen him skillfully traverse on countless rainy afternoons when he visited. I felt myself laboring to control an impulse to kiss that soft, supple hand, to hold it up to my face so that he could sense my pulse and know that the blood coursing through my veins could beat with a passion too.
"Hey, what's up?"
Mr. Crane might as well as have put an ice cube down the back of my shirt.
Almost flinging aside the injured hand that I had not minutes ago so carefully cradled I blurted out some ridiculous gibberish and rushed out of the room in a flood of guilt and self-recrimination.
I didn't even grasp that I had grabbed the egg timer with me, in a panic when I took flight until I slammed my bedroom door behind me and flung myself on the bed. I smashed the timer to the floor and buried my head in a pillow. What was I doing? I was practically a married woman, for God's sake! It was disgusting --- wasn't it? I was having erotic thoughts about a man that I had called "friend" for over six years!
But I knew it was more than that --- it wasn't just the sensuousness of the touch of his hand --- it was more, much more. And that was what, in fact, scared me most of all. Part of me wanted to take a chair and block the door so that even if Dr. Crane tried, he couldn't come in to ask me to explain what had just happened. The other part of me wanted to open the door and call out his name - invite him in to explore the uncharted directions that would result from such a bold and decisive move.
I waited for quite a while, listening intently for a gentle, polite knocking on the wooden frame of my door, but none came. After an hour, I quietly got up and made my way out into the living room.
Mr. Crane was watching a ball game on the telly. Dr. Crane was nowhere in sight.
"Donny called, Daph and said that he would be swinging by here to pick you up in about a half an hour."
Funny, I hadn't even heard the telephone ring.
"You two going out this evening?"
"Umm, yes --- yes we are." I had completely forgotten. My voice was ragged and sounded on edge. I slipped into the kitchen and got a bottle of water to ease the dryness in my throat. All evidence of our little "cooking lesson" had been cleaned up and there wasn't a trace that he had even been in the apartment at all, let alone of what had actually transpired that afternoon. Maybe it hadn't really happened after all? Maybe I was imagining the whole --- I spotted the aloe cream jar tucked neatly into a corner of the counter. Yes, it really had taken place. I deposited the irrefutable proof back in the cupboard where it belonged, made a mental note that I had better replace the timer before Frasier discovered its absence and returned to the living room.
"So, where you off to?"
I felt like saying "Mind your own bloomin' business you old sod!" but I realized that it was really just polite conversation he was making, so I chose "Dinner and a show" instead.
Mr. Crane just grunted and I gathered my purse and coat and sat on the couch waiting for Donny to arrive. I felt exhausted. I just couldn't handle all these feelings that had started to invade me ever since that fateful afternoon when I massaged Frasier and he had let the cat out of the bag. So I just pushed the chaos and doubts aside for now - I would examine them later. That's what I would do all right --- I'd look at my predicament later, when I just wasn't so tired.
"Are you O.K., Daphne?"
"Yes, I'm fine," I said simply and left it at that, but I knew I wasn't. And I think Mr. Crane knew I wasn't too. But if it is one thing I can count on, it is for Mr. Crane to not probe too deeply into my "intimate" affairs. That, thank goodness, is just his way.
Unfortunately it isn't my way - especially if I have "had a few brews".
Which brings me to my current dilemma. You see, "later" never came and my quandary wasn't solved at all - it just got bigger.
Dr. Crane had been anxiously wanting to "present" Mel formally to the family, so they could get to know her better and his brother suggested a brunch get-together as a good way to break the ice.
I had been nervous about this right from the start, to tell you the truth. So goosey in fact, that it had taken me about an hour and a half, and a whole Valium just to find the right ensemble to wear. I finally settled on my chic dark red Chinese silk skirt and a simple black form-fitting top. It was just sheer coincidence, I realized later, that that particular outfit accentuated my height around petite Mel. Didn't cross my mind earlier, though - I swear.
Roz and I planned on serving Bloody Marys and a fritata, along with coffee and pastries from Le Cigaré Volant. You know - the usual brunch fare.
Well, this little "get together" was anything but usual, let me tell you!
Right from the moment that her majesty "Queen Mel" waltzed in she was lording it over everyone, making curt comments and insinuations - it took her all of about 10 minutes to alienate everyone in the room. The drinks were too strong, the food was too cheesy, the pastries were too fatty, the coffee was too bitter, the dog was too "doggy" - the list went on and on. Of course Dr. Crane couldn't see any of this. He was gushing like a schoolboy over every word she said. Giggling at her inane twittering about how she was an expert at spotting the physical faults in others. I had to have two drinks in quick succession just to keep from slapping her cow face after she said that most tall women often suffer from inferiority complexes!
Finally we were all put out of our misery when Mel was beeped and had to leave on short notice. I didn't even know that plastic surgeons had "on call" emergencies. I suspect that she had arranged the whole thing when she slipped into the powder room - it was just another way for her to irritate and insult Frasier. You didn't need a crystal ball to see that she sensed that he was steamed about her manipulating his brother into running for the wine club presidency and stealing his thunder.
That was such a cheap way to make Dr. Crane feel good about himself, when you think about it. It doesn't take much to push his rivalry buttons when it comes to his brother and I think she is smart enough to realize that eventually if she pressed too hard it would backfire and drive more a wedge between them. But then maybe that is what she hoped to accomplish - if Frasier and him weren't so close, he would rely more on her for support and eventually he would be totally dependant on just her for his emotional sustenance. She could have him completely within her power, to mold him any way she envisioned him --- just like that witch of a wife of his had done with him. Mel was just a kinder, gentler version of Maris. A velvet hammer instead of an iron one. In the end she will be just as destructive - there just won't be as many obvious bruises.
Well, anyway, all hell broke loose after "Lady Macbeth" left.
Dr. Crane made the mistake of asking everyone what they thought of Mel and I guess I was the culprit that got the ball rolling.
"Oh, I don't like her at all! She's bossy and fussy and mean. She's all wrong for you!"
Yeah, that's what too many Bloody Marys and being out of the room when Mr. Crane issued his stern warning about everyone keeping their mouths shut, can do for you all right!
Of course the liquid courage that I had consumed allowed me the luxury of not really giving a tinker's damn at the time about how Dr. Crane, or anyone else for that matter, viewed my little critique of Mel Karnofsky that afternoon.
It just snowballed from there and soon Dr. Crane had had his fill of all of us bad-mouthing his girlfriend and left in a huff, slamming the door behind him.
Can't really blame him.
It really didn't hit me until later, when the alcohol had worn off, how hurt he must have been. Our approval of her must have meant something to him or he never would have asked for it in the first place, so to hear such an onslaught of scorn about someone he cared about must have wounded him deeply.
I don't take back my opinion of Mel - I do think she is all wrong for him, but I also think I would have worded it a bit more carefully if I had a second chance --- and I hadn't been quite so sozzled. I think we all would have been more discreet if we could have a "do over" --- well, everyone except Roz.
And while we are on the topic of doing things differently I also have come to the conclusion that I have to start controlling myself a bit more. These bouts of wild imaginings that I have been having about Dr. Crane have to come to an end. It's quite obvious that he and Mel are an "item" now and --- and Donny and I will be married before the year is out, so there is something more than just a little wrong with my behavior as of late. All these daydreams and fantasies about Dr. Crane, about how it would feel to be in his arms and the touch of his lips on my body as we made --- well, it just has to stop! It's just not right! Donny has done nothing to deserve such shabby treatment from me and Dr. Crane hasn't encouraged me in any way.
It's all me.
I'm the one causing all the trouble - for myself and for Dr. Crane. What do I hope to accomplish with putting on a performance like I did today or when we cooked together? Or the unbridled thoughts of him I have at night, when I'm alone in my bed --- and once, just once mind you - once when Donny and I had finished making love. I admit, I thought --- what would it be like to lie next to "him" --- Niles? Yes, I call him Niles at times like that. I can so clearly see now that he is a man, not just good, old friendly Dr. Crane, but Niles --- a passionate man with shy, alluring sensitivities. And that's why I have to stop! By thinking as him as "Niles" in my own mind, I'm breaking down the barriers that should be between us. He has to remain Dr. Crane to me. If he becomes "Niles" I don't have a chance --- and what's worse, neither does Donny.
And if I destroy what I have with Donny, I may end up with nothing - no Donny, no Niles and --- and no Dr. Crane.
And that is truly scary.
'Night.
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* My Journal Through Life - Niles Crane
I forgave Daphne first.
I couldn't help it, of course. Even though she only left one apology on my voice mail and Frasier left about a half a dozen.
As soon as I heard her voice on the machine I knew I would acquiesce to her plea.
"Dr. Crane, it's Daphne here. I am soooo sorry for what I said on that Sunday. There's no excuse for my behavior and I know I haven't got a right to expect you to forgive me, but I hope you will."
I clicked off the machine and whispered, "You're forgiven." I could never stay truly angry with her for very long. Especially when I could hear the nervous quiver in her voice as she spoke. It sounded like she was about to cry.
And then I realized that if I had forgiven her, then I had to pardon Frasier and Dad as well. It only made sense - I couldn't go over and speak to Daphne and ignore my own flesh and blood, could I?
Roz was the last to receive my mental absolution as I sat listening to their recorded mea culpas. I know Frasier put her up to the phone call --- I could hear him in the background nudging her on. But I know she probably meant it - we're supposed to hate each other, but we don't. It's all an act really.
What wasn't an act though, were the stinging indictments of the guest of honor that they all delivered after Frasier's little soiree for Mel a week ago Sunday.
The things they said about Mel were --- very hurtful - inexcusable really.
"Bossy."
"Gigantic pain in the ass!"
"Manipulative."
"Demanding."
"Pushy."
"Mean."
"She's Maris all over again."
I think that's all of them --- oh, wait there's "Fussy," but that's not really an insult, although it was meant to be.
To be fair, I did ask them to be candid and tell me what they honestly thought of her. So in a way, when one couches it in those terms, you haven't got a right to complain if the answer isn't the one you like. That being said, they might have found it to have been more evenhanded in their analysis and at least made a genuine effort to think of at least one positive remark to say.
But what's done is done and I guess they'll just have to learn to tolerate Mel, or modify their attitudes once they get to know her better, because I'm not going to let their erroneous, petty opinions of a perfectly lovely woman spoil my relationship with her. At this point in my life all my emotional hopes are riding on Mel and I can't afford to abandon ship, so to speak.
I just thank God that Mel isn't aware of their collective verdict of her. If she were ever to catch wind of it, I could easily foresee a situation like I had with Maris and Frasier had with Lilith - everyone tiptoeing around the unstated yet obvious atmosphere of antagonism. I know Maris just handled it by avoiding my family as much as possible. I don't think I could go through a repeat of that. I need my family and friends just as much as I need Mel.
Even though Frasier has disappointed me with his latest assessment of Mel, he has been a great comfort to me recently - helping me sort through some confusing signals that I thought was getting from Daphne a while back.
You see I solicited her assistance to cook a birthday dinner for Mel with me and everything was going very --- well, cordially and then I happened to clumsily burn my hand. In her naturally nurturing way, she quickly saw to it that I received the appropriate treatment, putting some medicated cream on the injury. But while she was rubbing my hand, she seemed to become totally distracted and lost in thought. It was as if she was mesmerized by --- by something. When Dad interrupted her, she nearly jumped on the countertop and then rushed out of the kitchen in a complete fluster. At first I have to admit I had a sudden rush of exhilaration - could she actually have feelings for me? Why else would she react with so much mortification when Dad had blundered in unannounced - could she have been thinking forbidden thoughts --- about me? I was tempted to go to her and inquire about what had just happened. It was the first time I ever had so much as the slightest indication that she might just --- just feel something genuine for me. But instead I rushed off to see Frasier at Nervosa to get his thoughts on the situation. And thank goodness I did. He quickly assured me I had totally misinterpreted her actions. He rightly reminded me that it could simply be that since Mel and I were growing closer I might be a bit reluctant about making a commitment to a woman again. After the pain I had suffered at the hands of Maris, I might very well be using this incident as an excuse to avoid the chance of risking further heartache if things didn't work out with Mel. On hearing this I knew he was right. To think - if I had confronted Daphne I would have appeared the perfect fool to her - and more than just a bit insulting. To suggest that she was entertaining ideas of lusting after me when in reality she was only a month or two away from the alter would have led to all sorts of unthinkable unpleasantness. Frasier very much saved me an untold amount of embarrassment by his wise counsel. But that's what brothers are for I guess.
And that's why I am going to find that book on Nietzsche that I borrowed from Frasier at Christmas time and drive over to his place and return it as a gesture of a return to normalcy. It's time to move on. It will be awkward at first --- I've boycotted the Elliot Bay Towers and Nervosa for almost two weeks now to make my point, but I'm sure they will realize what is really going on and then everything will be back the way it was - well almost. It may take a bit more time after that, but things will come around eventually.
I know them --- they'll come through for me in the end.
I can depend on that, for sure.
Adieu.
P.S. Completely unrelated, yesterday Donny has asked me to help him organize a bridal shower for Daphne. When he said, "help" I think he meant that I have free rein to do as I see fit. As he put it, "What would I know about throwing that sort of thing?" He says that he figured that sort of thing is "right up my alley". I really don't know if I should be complimented or miffed at the implications of that statement, but I agreed immediately to arrange it, of course. I think it will help me prepare mentally for the looming wedding more easily. And I will need all the bolstering I can get for to handle that little upcoming event.
Stay tuned for Part 14 (to be continued)
