Life's a Drag
Chandler rolls over and lifts his head from the pillow to look at the baby monitor on the bedside table. Still no sound coming from either of the twins. He worries that perhaps the volume is too low, so he reaches over and turns the dial up until he can hear the ambient sounds from the nursery through the speaker. He buries his head into his pillow again and pulls the comforter up to his shoulders as he closes his eyes. He knows he should try to get back to sleep and take advantage of the quiet morning that the twins are gifting him, but his mind, for some twisted reason he cannot begin to comprehend, will not let him drift back off into dreamland. It is as if his body subconsciously knows he will be alone for today and is forcing him to behave responsibly.
It used to be so easy to sleep late without feeling guilty about it. Before he moved in with Monica, he could stay in bed until noon if he wanted to. Now, after five years and waking up early almost every morning with her and her unbridled, practically inexhaustible energy, he can no longer sleep past six-thirty. Even now, with no one disturbing him, and no urgent need to get out of bed, he finds that he has already been awake for over a half-hour. It seems that now, long before the alarm is set to go off, his body is trained to get up, despite his protests.
"Dammit! I'm turning into Monica!"
He pulls the pillow away from his face and looks at the clock on the bedside table. Six-forty-five. He imagines Monica is already done with the errands she had wanted to run before she met with Rachel and Phoebe and is now probably running a half-marathon through Manhattan or alphabetizing some poor newspaper vendor's booth for fun.
"Where does she get the energy."
Realizing that trying to fall back asleep is now a hopeless endeavor, he swings his legs across the bed and sits up. Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands and then sliding them up to the top of his head as he scratches haphazard lines through his scalp.
"Coffee. I can have coffee. I can read the paper and have coffee and be an adult for a little while before Jack and Erica wake up."
It has been just over four months since the twins were born and, not by coincidence, it has also been just over four months since the last time Chandler was able to enjoy a fresh, hot brewed cup of coffee first thing in the morning. He almost forgot what it feels like to sip down that warm, invigorating, dark elixir as he idly flips through a newspaper in the comfort of his own home. He has tried to time it out right before, but it seems with the twins, no matter what hour he brews a fresh pot, it never works out. Once the coffee is made, something always comes up. The babies both need to be changed or fed or they might just be crying for no reason at all. Then there's always one more thing he has to get from the top of the linen closet for his wife or one more chore that needs to be done and next thing he knows it has been forty-five minutes and the coffee has gone cold. Not today. The babies are still asleep. Monica is not there to hound him with some arbitrary task to complete or one more to do list to go over. His only work obligation is a staff meeting that he can call into while his dad is over watching the twins. There is absolutely nothing that is going to stand in the way between him, a hot cup of coffee and blissful peace.
He bounces out of the bed and doesn't even bother to put on pants; deciding that his undershirt and boxers are formal enough attire for what he is already thinking of dubbing "A Day at Casa de Chandler". He is the boss today. He will be making all of the decisions. More accurately, he gets to make all of the decisions Monica's eight-page instructions for today allows him to make.
"Well, at least I can decide what I am going to wear!"
He practically dances his way into the kitchen and measures out enough coffee to make half a pot. He fills it with water and hits the brew button, letting out an excited, yet quiet "Waapaa!" as he presses it down. While the coffee brews, he walks through the living room and steps outside the front door to pick up the newspaper that is lying neatly on the stoop.
When they first moved in, finding their daily paper was a mystery only Agatha Christie could have conjured up. They would find it in the bushes, under the car, in the street and one time, they even found it on the roof. Everyday it was thrown carelessly in some random place near the vicinity of their home. By the end of their first two weeks in the house, Monica was fed up and had enough. One morning she decided to wake up early and wait outside so she could confront the man who delivered their paper. It wasn't until six in the morning that she finally spied his station wagon slowly moving down the street as he flung newspapers from the driver's side window at the other houses in the neighborhood. She scurried down the driveway and snatched their paper out of the air as he threw it. She slammed her hands down onto his hood, no doubt scaring the hell out of him, and gave him a stern lecture. Ever since that day, the paper was not only always on their stoop but it was lined up perfectly on the welcome mat as if he used a ruler to measure the margins. It was also delivered every morning at five-thirty exactly. Chandler labeled her "Monica Bing the suburban commando" that day, and she wore the name with pride.
He smirks at the memory as he rolls out the paper and steps back inside the house. The aroma from the coffee reaching out to him like tendrils as he practically floats into the kitchen. He sits down and kicks his feet up on an unoccupied chair as he waits for the machine to finish. A satisfied smile on his face. Then, just as the coffee maker beeps signaling it had completed brewing the pot, he hears it. As if on purpose, or choreographed by a cruel god, from over the monitor, a baby grunts. Then there are some gurgles, and finally, the sound of a cry. Chandler looks over at the coffee pot with a forlorn expression.
"Oh come on!"
He slaps his paper down onto the table, reluctantly rises from his chair, and heads upstairs into the twins bedroom. Before even reaching the second floor, he knows who is up first. Erica. The first noise of the day is always Erica. The women in his life conspiring against him early in the morning. It was a daily routine in the Bing home. Erica gets up and starts crying, which sets off Jack. Like a twisted symphony of wailing babies, which would only get louder as the minutes tick by. As he reached their cribs, he found them in a state of near hysterics. Two babies, wailing as if they were abandoned in some dark alleyway instead of snuggled up safely in their own room.
"Hey there baby girl. Big guy. What's all the fussing about?"
Chandler bends down to pick up his daughter and as his face get closer to her, he pulls back, grimacing and turning his head.
"Oh my god. That is not something that a human baby should be capable of producing."
He holds her out, away from him as he carries her over to the changing table.
"We have got to look into your diet."
He pulls off the sleep-sack and pajamas, tossing them in the laundry basket and quickly changes her diaper. He then brings her over to the playpen they have set up in the room and places her on her stomach.
"Never too early for exercising little girl. Let's see what you can do."
Erica gurgles a bit and lets out a sound that just seems to be a random noise as she lifts herself up and supports her head, turning around and then looking right at her father.
"Don't look at me like that. I don't need to exercise; I can already hold my head up."
He walks over toward Jack, leaving Erica to reach and stretch for some of the objects in the playpen. He scoops his son up in his arms, takes a sniff, and nods.
"That's my boy. Just hold onto it until Mom comes home."
He changes his son quickly and pulls on the outfit Monica had laid out for him.
"Okay Jackie boy. Now your turn to squirm around and do baby stuff while I throw some clothes on your sister and then we can get you guys breakfast."
He places Jack on his stomach as well and looks down.
"Just copy your sister. See what she's doing, just do that."
He turns to look over at Erica who is laying on her side trying to stuff her foot in her mouth.
"Okay. New plan. Don't copy your sister. She's weird."
He lifts Erica from the playpen and dresses her in the other outfit Monica left out. He carries her back over and lays her down inside and then sits up next to them, watching his children stretch, reach, grab each other's feet, stuff toys in their mouths and make noises. Erica strings some consonant and vowel sounds together while Jack is still stuck on "ooo" or "aaa".
After roughly ten minutes of watching his children, Chandler stands up and sighs. "Okay guys, we are probably already behind mom's schedule. Let's go downstairs and get something to eat. Jack, you're first."
He lifts Jack up and quickly walks him downstairs, placing him in the enclosure they have set up in the den. He then jogs back up to retrieve Erica and plops her down next to her brother. He no longer has the confidence to carry both babies at the same time. They squirm and shift too much for that now. He walks over to the kitchen, puts together two bottles of formula, grabs a jar of pureed fruit Monica had prepared for them out of the fridge and snags a baby-sized spoon from the cutlery drawer. He turns for a moment and looks at the coffee pot, the light on the warmer shuts off and he just mutters under his breath as he moves back into the den. He sets up two boppy pillows on either side of the couch and props each baby in one. He then sits down between then and starts to bottle feed the twins at the same time. They tug a bit at the bottles and he encourages them to try to hold them on their own, but they are still too young for that to work.
"So, what should we talk about this morning? Any ideas? How about, the magical tale of John McClain and The Nakatomi Plaza?"
After Chandler finished feeding the twins and got himself dressed, he changes their diapers one more time and lays them back down in the enclosed playpen in the den. He walks over to the CD tower next to the stereo and runs his fingers up and down one of the rows.
"Okay kids, what'll it be this morning? Les Misérables or Phantom of the Opera?"
He turns to look over at Jack and Erica as they shift around on the floor, touching each other and the toys that he had placed in there with them. Jack's face looks troubled as he can't seem to reach the soft, fabric block laying only a few inches away from him. He begins to grunt angrily and then makes a sound akin to a whimper. This combination of noises seems to set Erica off who begins to sob. Chandler turns back to the rack and pulls out a CD.
"Les Misérables it is!"
With the music playing low, Chandler walks over and tries to soothe his children. He knocks the block over towards Jack and picks Erica up, rocking her as he begins to hum along to the song playing on the radio. A few minutes go by and he hears a knock on the front door before it swings open. As the song continues to play, he hears his father's voice join in the chorus and Chandler smiles down at Erica as she seems to have settled and places her back in the pen.
"Hey dad."
Charles walks into the den, wearing purple track pants and a light purple, long-sleeve shirt. He looks over at the twins with a grin on his face. "How are these babies doing?"
"Not bad. I think we just avoided a meltdown. They'll probably fall asleep again soon."
Charles hands his son a brown paper bag. "I brought you a couple of croissants. Do you have any coffee?"
Chandler laughs. "Yes. There's a half pot in the kitchen."
Charles walks away as Chandler takes out one of the croissants and begins to eat it. His father calls from the other room, "Son, this coffee is ice cold. I'll make a fresh pot." Chandler smirks and continues to hum to the music as he sits down on the floor next to the babies.
Charles walks back into the den and sits down on the couch. His cell phone rings in his pocket and he fumbles with it to silence it before it disturbs the twins docile mood.
"Oh, sorry, son. Let me take this." He flips it open and puts the receiver to his ear. "Hello. What? What! Oh no. This could be a disaster. Okay. Well, I have to help my son out this morning, can we do it later? All right, let me ask." He pulls the phone down and looks over at Chandler. "Son, there's some sort of costume emergency. Do you mind if someone brings over a few outfits for me to check? I promise it won't be a big deal. You'll hardly know we're here."
Chandler looks around the room and shrugs his shoulder reluctantly. "Sure, I guess. But I really need you to watch the twins while I am on the phone later, okay?"
"Of course! This shouldn't take more than an hour." Charles puts the phone back up to his ear. "Okay. Bring them over here. The address is on the refrigerator. Okay, I'll see you later." He hangs up and puts the phone back into his pocket. "I'm sorry son, we are starting a whole new production and we have a dress rehearsal tonight. If these costumes aren't completed today it could really mess things up."
"No problem dad. Just use the living room for whatever you need. These two look like they might be ready to go back down soon anyway, I'll bring them upstairs. They'll probably be out for a few hours anyway."
Chandler leans down and picks up Jack as his father walks over to grab Erica. "Let me help."
They walk the babies upstairs into the nursery. Charles helps Chandler put them in new diapers and they lay them down in their cribs. Chandler sits down in one of the rocking chairs and Charles settles into the other one.
"I normally wait them out a little, just to make sure they go down." Chandler shifts a bit in his seat and looks over at his father who is straining to watch the babies. "So, this new show. What's it about? I mean, besides penises and bare-chested male dancers."
Charles chuckles lightly. "Well, we had this idea that we would parody a classic film and it took us a while to think of which one fit and we finally decided on 'The Godfather'. Only our show will be called 'The Drag Mother'." Charles purses his lips and begins to impersonate Marlon Brando. "We're going to make him an offer he can't refuse."
Chandler, looking puzzled, turns to his father. "What is the offer?"
Charles chuckles again. "Bare-chested male dancers."
"There it is." The doorbell rings and Chandler smirks. "And there that is, you might as well get it. It is probably for you."
Charles nods and makes his way out of the room and quickly pads his way downstairs. Chandler stands up and walks over to the cribs. Both babies are already sound asleep. He pushes Jack slightly so he is not wedged up in the corner and smiles.
"Guys, please never learn the words to 'It's Raining Men'. I think one generation of Bings having to sing that is enough."
Chandler tilts his head as he suddenly hears what sounds like several different voices coming from downstairs. Some loud. Some shushing, and some singing along to the music that is still playing from the stereo in the den. Chandler decides to go downstairs to investigate.
When he walks into the living room, his eyes widen as his mouth goes agape. In his living room stood several men and his father.
"Dad?"
"What? Oh, well, they needed to try the outfits on. You don't mind, do you son?"
Chandler looks around at the crowd in his house. He quickly counts ten people piling into his living room and den from the front door. A few of them link arms and start to sing along to the Les Misérables soundtrack. Chandler puts his hands up and gestures in surrender. He backs out of the room and walks towards the kitchen.
"I'm thirteen all over again. I'm in a house full of gay men singing show tunes."
He pulls down a mug from the cabinet and walks over to the coffeemaker to discover that the pot is missing.
"Dad, where's the coffee?"
"I brought it in here. A couple of the fellas aren't used to being up this early. Do you have any low calorie sweetener?"
Chandler shakes his head in disbelief and looks over at the clock. Nine-thirty. His meeting in is an hour and Ross should be over by eleven. He sits down at the table, finishes off the rest of his croissant, and reads the paper. In the background, he can hear the men in his living room squabbling and singing. He starts to bob his head to the music.
"These guys aren't half bad. Is one of them a baritone?"
The doorbell rings and before he can get up, somebody from the group walks over to the door and lets in another visitor from his father's show. Chandler cranes his neck to listen and finds out his new guest's name is Maurice, and he brought donuts and wigs. Chandler begins to slink down in his chair and pulls the newspaper up to cover his face when the phone rings and he rushes over to answer, jumping at the opportunity to block out all the noise coming from the other room that is flooding his brain with memories from his awkward adolescence.
"Hello. Oh, hey Monica. Everything is going fine. The babies are sleeping. They ate and played a little. Are you still shopping? Oh, okay. Checking up on me? You know you can trust me, right? It isn't like I have a house full of drag queens trying on dresses and wigs and singing songs from the second act of Les Misérables. What? No, no. I was just joking. Just making a very specific joke. Yes, my dad is here. No, stay in the city. Everything is fine. I will keep it clean. I love you too. Are the girls there yet? Oh, okay. Well, call me when you are on the way home. Okay, bye."
He hangs up the phone as a young muscular man who looks to be in his early twenties enters the kitchen without a shirt on and places the empty coffee pot on the table. "Your dad said to bring this in here. Can we get more coffee?"
"I'll make coffee as long as you get your abs out of here. I don't need all of that" he waves his hand around in the vicinity of the man's chest, "all up in here." He then waves his hands around his own midsection. The young man shrugs and walks back into the living room.
Chandler begins to rinse out the pot to prepare it for another batch of coffee and he hears someone call from outside the kitchen, "Oh, can we play this 'Hello Dolly' disc next?" to which he hears his father respond. "Okay, but the volume stays where it is. I have two grand-babies sleeping upstairs and if any of you wake them you are out of the show!" Chandler smiles as he hears a chorus of shocked gasps in response to his father's threat and finishes setting up the coffee.
As it starts to brew his phone rings again. "Hello. Oh, hey Charlie. They pushed the meeting up? Five minutes? Okay, that actually might be good for me. Let me just put you on hold so I can get set up. What? Oh, the noise? You mean to tell me you have never heard eight drag queens singing 'Every Day' from the Les Miz soundtrack? Well then my friend you have not lived, or should I say, you have not suffered enough childhood embarrassment that something like this doesn't even phase you anymore."
Once his conference call concludes, Chandler makes his way back downstairs. He decides to go in the kitchen and get a cup of coffee but when he gets there, the pot is empty again.
"Can't you guys drink chardonnay in the morning like a respectable drag queen stereotype?"
He hears the Chicago soundtrack playing as there is a din of chattering between the people in the other room. He takes time to make another pot of coffee when he hears a knock on the door.
A voice he does not recognize, calls out. "I got it! Ooo. Well, hello tall, dark and handsome. I don't remember ordering one of you?"
He then hears the unmistakable stammering of a blindsided and incredibly uncomfortable Ross Geller.
"Uh, is Chandler here? Am I at the right house? Is that the music from Chicago?"
Chandler gets up and walks over to the door. "Yes, this is the right house, but it is somehow an entrance way into the past. It is now 1983 and I am fifteen, surrounded by my father's coworkers. Jump right in buddy, the water is dysfunctional."
Ross, clearly shaken up, enters the room.
"Ross! How are you." Charles steps out from behind someone being fitted and extends his hand. "I haven't seen you since the wedding."
Ross, still thrown by the crowd in Chandler's house weakly shakes Charles' hand. "Uh, yeah. I was told I was here to help take care of the twins." He peers into the living room again. "Hey, are those donuts?"
One of the men looks over. "Sorry honey, the twins got cut from the show."
Charles looks back into the room. "He means the babies, not Miss Thing One and Two."
A chorus of "ohhhs" fills the room. Ross shakes his head and Chandler silently directs him to make his way to the kitchen.
"Chandler, what is going on?"
Before responding, Chandler glances over to the counter and sees that the pot of coffee is gone again. "Come on! Those sequin dress wearing coffee hogs!"
A voice from the other room calls out. "Hey! We aren't dogs!"
Chandler, slightly annoyed charges back "I said hogs! Coffee hogs!"
"Oh, okay then!"
Ross, still bewildered looks around the room. "Um. Chandler?"
"My dad came here to help with the twins, then he got a phone call about some work emergency. I don't see why you're confused. Everything is perfectly normal around here. If perfectly normal meant turning my living room into a gay burlesque drag show."
Ross lets out a nervous laugh and takes his coat off. Charles walks back into the kitchen with an empty coffee pot.
"Ross my boy! Can you help us out? How tall are you?"
Ross looks back and stutters a bit. "Uh, six-one."
"Great! Great!" Charles clasps his hands on each of Ross' shoulders and pats them roughly. "And you have the right build! We need you to stand on this stool and help us with this one dress."
"Okay, sure. What do you want me to do? Hold it up or something?"
"Oh no. Nothing like that. We just need you to put it on and let us mark it off for adjustments. Heidi Hoe isn't going to make it and we need this done for her tonight."
Ross shakes his head vehemently. "Uh, I'm not putting on a dress."
"Oh you have to. I mean, you definitely have the body for it."
Ross allows a sheepish grin to spread across his lips. "Well, I have been working out."
Charles pats him on the shoulder again. "Look, it will just be for a minute. I promise. We just need someone your height and build to do this. Heidi will be eternally grateful. I think you would have made a smashing good performer!"
Ross now looks over at Chandler smugly. "I would have made a good performer. You know, I played keyboards in college."
Charles grins and winks at Chandler. "I did not know that. I bet you were very good. You have the fingers of a pianist."
Ross looks at his hands and wiggles his fingers. "That's what I always said!" Now, drunk with flattery, Ross straightens up proudly. "I'll do it, but it has to be quick." He then turns back sharply to Chandler. "And this stays between us! No one finds out! Not even Monica!"
Chandler, speaking in an exaggerated yet reassuring tone, nods. "Of course it will! I would never tell a soul about this."
As Ross disappears into the living room, Chandler goes upstairs to check on the twins. When he returns downstairs, he sees Ross already standing on a chair as two of the men who came in earlier are arguing about where to mark of a chalk line and where to stick the pins.
"Looking good Geller."
Ross turns around with a slightly proud smile. "I know. They said I would have been a great drag queen because of my figure!"
Suddenly a flash fills the room causing Ross to blink and rub his eyes. He hears the sound of a shutter going off again as he tries to clear up his momentary blindness.
"What? Chandler! No!"
Chandler, shaking out a Polaroid photo in his hand as he snaps another picture starts to laugh. "What! I said I wouldn't tell anyone. This isn't telling."
Ross prepares himself to leap off the stool towards Chandler, but suddenly howls in pain as one of the men accidentally sticks him with a pin.
"Oh, I'm sorry honey. You have to stop moving."
Chandler slips out of the living room. "Yeah Ross, You have to stop moving!"
Ross's eyes widen in anger. "Chandler!"
Chandler scurries down the hall and snickers his way into the kitchen.
Monica enters the house and looks around instinctively to see if anything seems out of place. She bends down absentmindedly to pull at the runner on the floor by the door to straighten it.
"Chandler?"
"Up here."
Monica drops her keys in the bowl on the credenza next to the front door and hangs her coat up in the hallway closet while slipping off her sneakers and placing them neatly on the shoe rack against the wall. She shakes her head, still furious about the events of the day and treads heavily up the stairs.
"Where are you?"
"Just put on your robe and come in the bathroom!"
"Chandler. I'm not really in the mood."
"Mon, trust me, just do it."
Monica sighs and goes into her bedroom to undress. She emerges a few minutes later and walks into the bathroom. There are candles lit throughout the room, creating a warm and inviting glow. The scents coming from them feeling like an almost spiritual massage. The book she had been reading is neatly settled on a TV tray table along with a glass of wine. Music is playing softly in the background and the tub is filled with bubbles and water so hot she can feel the steam already moistening her skin.
"What is this?"
Chandler turns around, pulling a thermometer out of the water and holding a binder in his other had labeled "Bath Instructions". He takes her hand and pulls her towards him.
"You sounded very stressed out and angry on the phone so I set up bath scenario twelve from the book."
Her eyes close and a weak smile begins to curl the edges of her lips. The first smile she has been able to form in hours. "Mmmm. The 'in case of emergency' bath. How did you know?"
Chandler answers her with a smile. "Go ahead and relax. I'll check on you in an hour? If you still aren't feeling better I have some pictures of Ross in a dress."
Chandler sits down on the edge of the tub and dips his fingers in the water. He looks over at his wife, who is moving bubbles around, as she remains settled comfortably in the bath. His eyes reflecting his concern as Monica fills him in on how her day was. Her tone is fraught with frustration.
"…and his name is Montgomery. That's just a name that screams 'I'm an ass'!"
"So, what are you going to do?"
"Well, they can't fire me, and it seems like he knew I was coming back. They want us both to be co-head chef. I don't know. I mean, this was supposed to be my kitchen. My menu. Now I have to share it with someone? It isn't fair."
Chandler looks down at the water. "I know. I'm so sorry they did this to you."
"There is some good news. I only have to work four days a week and they can't cut my pay. I'm going to work Wednesday through Saturday and he does Saturday to Tuesday, so I only have to deal with that jerk one night a week. And I can do my own specials, but now we both share the main menu and he changed it so much already." Chandler motions at her wine glass to see if she wants a refill but she shakes her head slightly. and sighs. "I'm just going to have to out-chef him. I'll just be so great and he will be mediocre and I'll beat him and they'll see my nights are better and he'll be gone and I'll get my kitchen back."
"You think that'll work?"
She looks up at him, her eyes betraying her usual self-confidence and exposes a rare vulnerability that she is only comfortable sharing with her husband.
"Honestly? I don't know."
Chandler stiffens up and puffs out his chest. "You know what? I know. You're going to win this. You know why?" She shakes her head weakly. "You're going to win because I'm on your team. And my team always wins."
She smiles up at her husband and reaches a hand out to him, pulling him down by his neck, and kisses him passionately. She pulls back for a moment.
"You really think so?"
Chandler nods. "I do."
Monica pulls him down once more, causing him to topple into the bath with her. She wraps her arms around his neck again as they deepen their kiss while he begins to peel off his wet clothes and tosses them on the bathroom floor.
"I thought you weren't in the mood."
"What can I say? You know how to turn me on."