4.

"Pardon me, but I need to use the ladies room. I'll be right back."

The fake-dyed redhead named Vivian Montgomery stood up, grabbed her expensive Prada handbag, and then excused herself off to the restroom. She was the wife of Maxwell's to-be backer and she was less than pleasant, so her momentary absence wouldn't matter much. C.C. and Maxwell were now left to chat with the Mister Winston Montgomery himself, who at the moment seemed most dreadfully distracted.

"Your wife seems very nice," stated Maxwell, politely trying to make small talk. He quickly elbowed C.C., so that she would add something to keep the weak chitchat going that they had been viciously struggling to uphold.

"Oh yes, I thought so too myself," joined in C.C., clearly lying through her teeth.

Winston, finally realizing he was being spoken to, promptly gave them his eye contact.

"Oh, yes my wife! Yes, yes thank you. She is a doll isn't she?" said Winston, who then turned his head towards the object of his attention, who Maxwell and C.C. were totally oblivious to.

In truth, neither of the backers was nice at all. They were both a rich, snooty rude couple, who just happened to be the heads of a major corporation. Maxwell and C.C. weren't here to be friendly, but here to shake some money out of their heavy, well-loaded wallets.

C.C. downed some more Chardonnay from her glass quickly, hoping this snooze-worthy meeting would end as soon as possible. C.C. knew some outrageous blue-bloods, but these people just took the cake, icing and all the candles for being snobby and most entirely annoying.

Out of the blue, Winston finally decided it was safe to speak of his distraction.

"Wow, check out that gorgeous, sexy brunette vixen over at the corner booth. Man, is she a dream or what? Look at that action!"

Maxwell hadn't really noticed the table off to the corner until his oh-so kind backer had pointed it out. It wasn't until after he recognized who the diners were that he wished he hadn't of looked.

It was Miss Fine and her date.

And they were making out.

And by chance it had to be a public place… where of course he happened to be dining as well.

If Fran and Julian weren't so enthralled in what they were doing, they would have seen the obvious stares.

Was this how Miss Fine was like on all her dates? Was she this easy? Maxwell felt himself pondering over such questions. He had never really seen her on a date before, so how she was on them really surprised him. He might need to spy on her more often to see how she actually was when she was with other men. Do men always look at her like this? Do they all want her? Do they hit on her every time she goes out? How far would she exactly go with one of those blokes? Maybe there were actually loads of guys who wanted her as their girl. Maybe she had plenty of options.

Maybe she'd rather choose someone else over me… What am I thinking? We are just friends. I'm acting like I want her. What am I saying? I do want her! I want her badly… No, no it would never work out. I'm her boss and she's the nanny. That's all there is between us. That's all there is. Nothing more and nothing less.

C.C. stared, her eyes bugging out and Max quickly turned away, hurt.

"Wow, I wish that honey was my date," blurted out the short, old balding man that was to be Maxwell's backer. "If she's like that when you take her to a restaurant, damn, I wonder what she's like if you took her home."

Maxwell practically choked on the fine wine he was consuming and C.C. started laughing uncontrollably.

Max was appalled at how the man could just openly cheat on his wife like that in front of company. Had he no decency? The way he was talking about Miss Fine was disrespectful and it was making him feel very uncomfortable at the moment.

"What?" questioned Winston, irritated and looking as if C.C. were laughing at him. "If you don't think she's attractive, than you are insane!"

"Oh—ha ha… it's just that well, if you took her home—she'd—ha ha… she'd do wonders with your children," responded an amused C.C.

Maxwell shot her a very unfriendly look.

"What are you talking about?" asked a confused Winston gruffly, straightening his striped tie.

Maxwell refused to contribute to this conversation, so he just sat quietly, fumed as hell and eating his Chicken Milanese pasta with Pomodoro sauce slowly. This was supposed to be an innocent little dinner! Feed them and take their money! The way this whole dinner was going, he almost wanted to shove his fork down his mouth and die slowly choking on it.

"Why… didn't you know? That woman over there is the nanny of Maxwell's children!"

Maxwell stared at his plate and moved the food rations around with his fork, the light scraping sound going unnoticed to the other members of his table.

"You gotta be kidding me. A woman that hot is a childcare worker?" said Winston, astonished behind belief, then a sudden sly smile came to his face and he turned to Max who was sitting next to him in a dining chair. He tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "So Maxwell, buddy, I bet it's a lot of fun playing house with the help. When you're not in need of her 'services,' maybe you could send her my way sometime." He ended the whole display of his by elbowing Maxwell and winking.

Maxwell looked up from the table and moved his face away from Winston's close one, utterly horrified and disgusted. He stared him straight in the eyes. Who the hell did this man think he was? Surely even his wife, being the bitch she was, didn't deserve him. And that's really saying something!

"I'm sorry Winston, but I afraid you have quite the wrong idea about Miss Fine," said Maxwell firmly and aggressively, as he was quite appalled. He scooted his chair out a little to give himself more breathing room.

If he wasn't in a bloody restaurant and he didn't need this backer so badly, he would've slugged the fool right then and there.

Winston moved back to his original position at the table.

"Miss Fine? WOW, even the name suits her! That lady is fine! Oh, but that's alright, I've still got the weekly cleaning lady to keep me satisfied."

That was it! He was the dirtiest womanizer Max had ever met.

"I still bet that fox in the corner table is an animal in bed, but of course if you don't want to tell me all about it Sheffield, I'll understand," spoke the nasty man once again, adjusting his glasses. "You'd probably rather keep her to yourself than share anyhow."

Maxwell could tell that his eyes were becoming ablaze, but there was nothing that he could do about it. He knew how much he desperately needed this money and running a successful play meant the world to him. One slip of the tongue to this sex-addicted man could change everything, even if it meant not sticking up for Miss Fine. But wasn't it her fault in the first place? After all, she was causing all the attention towards herself.

Why did Miss Fine have to be here and be the center of this man's interest? And how dare Montgomery accuse me of messing around with my help? Who does he think I am? Better yet, who does he think HE is?

Winston's wife quickly appeared out of nowhere, freshly powdered nose and all, and she was not a happy camper. They all knew something was up when she didn't immediately sit back down. Maxwell and C.C. became very nervous, because if Vivian had heard even a slither of something from their conversation, their money for backing might be in danger and on its way down the drain. Before they could say "Broadway Flunk," their worst nightmare happened.

Vivian tucked the front strands of her short auburn bob behind her ears and then tapped her foot quite furiously. She looked as if she was waiting for an explanation, but at the same time didn't want to hear one.

"I can't believe you Winnie! You have the hots for that chick over there and you've been fooling around with THE MAID?! I liked Marie too, but now? Well, hell my whole outlook is changed. I stand over at the next table talking to my friend Cassie, who I didn't realize was here, and I overheard all the shit you were saying!"

This woman didn't even have natural red hair and she still had a fiery attitude.

"Uh—I didn't… honey, please—"

"Real Nice Winston! We're getting a divorce PRONTO!" yelled out Vivian stomping off towards the nearest exit, her heels echoing on the polished wood floor with a pok pok pok sound.

"Uh, SWEETHEART!" shouted Winston desperately after his wife and then to Maxwell, "This really isn't a good time Sheffield. Sorry."

The wealthy elderly man with the receding hairline then took off with speed after his very offended wife.

All of this caused a lot of commotion in the restaurant and even Fran and her date Julian noticed some of what was going on. They had paused from talking and stopped to gaze over at a distressed C.C. and Maxwell. Fran was surprised to see them. Before she had a chance to put a piece of steamed broccoli into her mouth, C.C. had approached their table. She grabbed Fran's wrist, pulling her up from the table and causing her to drop her fork which gave a loud clank when it landed upon her plate.

"Excuse us," said C.C. to Julian, in a fake polite tone.

Fran turned around to Julian, shrugging her shoulders and then C.C. dragged her around the corner to a more out-of-the-way area of the restaurant. Mr. Sheffield also happened to be there waiting. He didn't look like any ray of sunshine either.

What did I do? thought Fran, overly frustrated by this new situation placed on her. Surely C.C. and Maxwell didn't pull her over to say "Hi." Especially, when they didn't look too peachy to begin with and that's just not a typical way to do a meet and greet.

"Ow, can you let go of my hand? You're hurting me," said Fran, shaking free of C.C.'s grip.

"Thanks to you, Nanny Fine, we just lost our potential backers! They were gonna give us half a mil!" shouted C.C. in Fran's face, as she stood with her hands on her hips, not even caring that she shouldn't be yelling in a fine dining establishment.

C.C.'s words confused Fran and she didn't understand why she was being blamed. Fran gave a baffled, puzzled face to the both of them and then she began to get mad.

"And this concerns me… because? Why the hell is it my fault? Tell me that! Not to mention, you had no right to interrupt my date!" complained Fran, who was extremely angry how C.C. had took her away from Julian and accused her of something she didn't even do. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm gonna go—"

C.C. pulled her back, not allowing her to leave.

"If you weren't dressed so trampy and sucking face with Joe Schmo over there, Winston Montgomery probably wouldn't have paid you any attention and his wife wouldn't have heard him talk about you!" shouted C.C., pointing far back towards the table where Julian was sitting.

"Whoa hold on, so your just gonna let her stand there and talk about me that way, huh Mr. Sheffield? You think it's my fault too don't you? Don't you?" questioned Fran, at Mr. Sheffield who she gave an offended stare.

He just pretended not to hear her to save his own skin and looked to be preoccupied with staring down at the burgundy-carpeted floor with a silver diamond-shaped pattern.

When he failed to respond, she figured out that his answer was the same as C.C.'s. That really just twisted the already stabbed knife deeper in her bleeding heart for him. How could she be in love with a man who thought she was a slut?

"You too Mr. Sheffield? So I guess it's my fault that I'm attractive and he was checking me out?" asked Fran, still trying to get Mr. Sheffield to voice his opinion even though he was pretending to ignore her.

She was doing her absolute best to get her point across that this debate they were starting made no sense whatsoever and was completely stupid.

"Yes, you thought right!" butted in C.C.

"I wasn't asking you! Mr. Sheffield? I'd really love to have some feedback from you. I wanna hear the input on your part! Just, just how exactly are you standing on this matter?"

Her really addressing him this time had caught him off guard and he paused for a moment before answering.

He was afraid of saying the wrong thing and having her be mad at him. Most likely, she was going to be irritated with him for this anyways so he figured he might as well just get this over with. Maxwell finally got something out, even though he hesitated a lot and stumbled over the words.

"Well, Miss Fine… uh—well you have to admit… you were uh—moaning pretty loud over there and—um… making a spectacle of yourself."

Maxwell nervously scratched behind his ear and tried his best to not maintain eye contact.

Oh, Fran could just not even believe this! They were hounding her on a little public display of affection of hers that happened to cause them some misfortune because of some horny old man's dissatisfaction with his wife. This was ridiculous beyond explanation!

"I can't believe you Nanny Fine!" said C.C., the fury continually rising in her face.

C.C. shook her hand out in front of herself and then placed it to her aching forehead, hoping to give a bit of a demonstration of just how much Fran's little scene had effected her. C.C.'s life was Broadway and another play having a greater possibility of flopping did not make her happy. On the contrary though, she was glad that Nanny Fine had actually messed up, because if Maxwell was mad at her, she would have a better chance with him now.

Once again, Mr. Sheffield just stood there and did nothing. Normally, he would have gladly stuck up for her, but now the overwhelming feeling of her and her date being together really dissatisfied him in the most horrible way.

"Oh, my gosh! It's not like I was by myself, so I dunno why the guy assumed I was available! What I feel like doing with my date out in public is my problem! If I wanna have my way with him on top the table, that's my deal. I was only having fun… excuse me for being so gorgeous that guys want to look my way. It's his fault he did it in front of his wife! Nothing that I was doing was any capital crime!" hollered Fran, who then held her hands out in question.

"Ssshh! Can you both keep it down, we're making a scene!" whispered Maxwell, looking over his shoulders at the diners who had nothing better to do than listen in.

All of them were arguing so loudly that most of the restaurant was all up in their conversation. It appeared as if most of the diners were getting entertainment from the little soap opera folding apart in front of them. The staff of the place was going to stop them until they realized it was Maxwell Sheffield, the Broadway Producer, and they knew they couldn't just kick a prominent man like him out. It's not like it was getting too far out of hand anyway and the customers seemed to enjoy all the drama.

"You could have at least waited to jump all over that guy until you got outside Nanny Fine!" spat out C.C.

"FYI, he was all over me first and I wanted him to be! And ya know what? I could have been some other random woman sitting in that booth and you still would've lost a backer! Would you have yelled at her too?" said an enraged Fran.

It really sunk in now to Maxwell how much money he was losing and how jealous he was of Fran and this other man's public intimacy. He then really started to take it out on her.

"But you weren't some other chance woman! It was you! Just remember that because of your foolish actions, we lost a very valuable asset to our production company!" bellowed Maxwell, heatedly.

Fran felt as if she might cry, because her emotions were shaken up and she did not like being yelled at and chastised like she was some small, disobedient child. Particularly, by a man she genuinely cared for and a woman that just plain hated her guts. She couldn't stand this anymore, couldn't stand here letting them pull her apart like this. It wasn't right and Fran decided that after one last comment, she was leaving this joint altogether.

"Let me tell you, that there are enough men in this city who would love to have me and if I was that kind of girl, there would not be one night that would go by where I would have to go to bed alone. But it seems that even though I'm not a hooker, people still accuse me of being one! Maybe I should just live up to my reputation and be a happy, sexually-content woman!" concluded Fran, walking off.

Maxwell and C.C. stood in shock, their jaws dropped in response to her statement. Before they knew it, Fran shoved past them, crying lightly. Julian followed her shortly after and he gave both of them mean looks. Pretty soon they disappeared from "Angelo's Italian Bistro." Maxwell and C.C. decided it was best they leave too, because the looks they were getting from the diners at the sight they had created were not at all pleasant either. But who could really blame the concerned patrons?

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