Kyrie, Eleison

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If Faye had thought that her previous poker tour was crazy, this poker tourney was utterly insane. Every day, she had to give interviews, take interviews, chat, cajole, charm, and generally schmooze each and every person involved with this event. Every day was exhausting. Faye would be on her feet for sixteen hours straight and gratefully fall into her bed once she'd stuffed her face with the latest and greatest menu items available from the Five-Star chef downstairs that she'd had the good fortune to chat up one night. He, or one of his minions, would magically appear whenever Faye had the notion that she should probably eat something.

Devine was actually a hoot to work for. Howie Devine was a huge, bilious man, balding, and always wearing a three-piece suit and chomping on a cigar that smelled like cow dung. He'd tell her dirty jokes while sharing his enormous lunches that his wife, Inga, would pack for him. When Devine discovered that Faye had a penchant for singing limericks, he gave her a huge book full of limericks for every occasion. When Faye asked what kind of computer she should buy so that she could send email, he yelled for one of his assistants to call the hotel IT and get her set up. Devine had even arranged for a personal trainer to help Faye continue her physical therapy, and Faye had carte blanche at the hotel spa for a daily massage.

One day, when Faye had been at the Citadel for about two months, she was telling Devine a story about Ein eating Spike's wallet when he interrupted her.

"So, Valentine."

Faye went silent. "Yes?"

"Bun in the oven?"

Faye began to tremble. "Yes."

"How far along?"

Faye did some quick calculations in her head. She bit her lip, and her eyebrows knitted. "Almost eighteen weeks."

Devine frowned, and then he said, "Hang on a minute." He picked up a phone and dialed.

Faye sat in the huge chair on the other side of his desk, eyes filling with tears. She took some deep breaths, and awaited her fate. Oh God, please, I don't want to get fired. Please. And then, she thought, What was I thinking? How did I even think that I'd be able to do this? Keeping a pregnancy a secret? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Devine started talking into the phone. "Yeah. It's me. We got a situation here. Just like you thought. Who was the guy we used for Susie? Yeah? Okay." He started writing something.

Faye's mind raced. Who's Susie? What "guy" is this? Dear God, what is he talking about?

Devine laid down the phone and looked at Faye. She was in an utter panic: she was halfway standing out of her chair, and her hands were clutching the arms, white-knuckled. "Faye. Siddown." Faye complied. Devine held out a slip of paper. "Here's the name and number of the baby doctor my daughter Susie used. Good guy. Tell his nurse I sent you. And Inga says congrats, why didn't you tell us, and she's throwing you a shower."

Faye stared for a moment, and then burst into tears. Suddenly, she found herself pulled into Devine's gruff hug. He petted her hair and rocked her like she was a little girl.

Devine chuckled. "Now don't get your water hot. Everything's gonna be okay. Ain't no one's business but your own, and nothing's going to change. I told ya, whatever ya got, we'll work around, and we're gonna." He put a finger under Faye's chin and raised her face to look at him. "Jesus, kid, get outta here. Wash your face. You look like a Saturday night hooker on a Tuesday morning."

Faye laughed, and then gave Devine one last squeeze, saying, "Thank you."

Devine squeezed her back. "Congratulations, kid."

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This is a work of fiction, and the CB characters are copywrited by someone other than me. Please leave a review!