July
…
Liz used to wonder if it is possible that there really is someone for everyone.
What is it like to wake up next to him, summer sun streaming through the windows? What is it like to hold hands with him? To rub his back when it is sore? What does it feel like when the outside of his hips press between her inner thighs? Or when his hands cup her bottom? How does it feel when he slides his warm palms over her rounded belly? What does it sound like, the slight hitch in his breath before he loses control?
It feels wonderful.
She no longer doubts herself, or him.
…
Liz sits at her desk as she watches her publicist and the television producer arrange the seating area of her office. She fans herself with a newspaper, cursing maintenance for the weak air conditioning. While the two quietly argue, Liz wonders again why she's agreed to this television interview. At the same time, she's fascinated by how the crew is managing to 'Extreme-Makeover' the hell out of her little couch area. Her office already looks a million times nicer, and all they've done is throw some paint on the walls.
TV really is magical.
Liz leans back in her desk chair and allows her thoughts to wander while her hand drifts to her baby bump. At five months pregnant, the bump is certainly obvious, but she appreciates the physical evidence of her impending motherhood.
July has been hectic. Jenna and Paul got hitched on the TGS stage, which Jenna insisted on. Unfortunately, there was the added craziness of the whole studio being under constriction; it was summer hiatus, after all. It all worked out, though, and in between the wedding, Liz was able to prepare for promoting her newest (but definitely her last) novel.
When her publicist had arrived at their penthouse on a Saturday in April, the woman was surprised when the head of NBC answered the door and welcomed her inside. It was Kathryn's first visit with Ms. Lemon in her home, and she'd barely believed that the provided address was legitimate. However, she knew who Jack Donaghy was, and had shaken hands with him eagerly.
As Jack led an impressed Kathryn into the spacious living room, he had a rueful look on his face.
"I must apologize; Lemon is, ah…well, she's not…"
Unfortunately, before he was able to finish, the sound of someone being sick came from the back of the apartment, and Jack left the room. The woman sat patiently on the couch for a few minutes, uncertain if she had been forgotten. Before she could decide if she should leave or not, she could hear bantering voices as they approached the room.
"Jack, stop worrying. This morning's nausea is no worse than any other morning. Morning sickness is a perfectly normal part of pregnancy," came Liz's voice.
"Yes, shall we talk about this later? I'm not sure you're up for it, but your publicist is here."
"Obviously, Jack. I have a meeting scheduled with her and I heard you let her in. I'm pregnant, not deaf."
At this, the couple entered the living room. Kathryn grinned at Liz and offered, "I suppose congratulations are in order, Ms. Lemon."
Liz smiled. "Thank you. And thanks for coming." With that, the meeting to discuss book signings, interviews and other promotional related events had begun.
And three months later, here she is. Liz hates to admit it, but she's nervous about this interview. Although her acting skills have improved since the disastrous Dealbreakers talk show situation, she doesn't appreciate being reminded of an event where she had so clearly failed. She considers escaping through a window or vent, but then figures that it's not an option in her condition. Regardless, she tries to think of ideas. A makeup artist dabs highlighter on her cheeks, and her floral-patterned silk dress is straightened. She's out of stalling time when Kathryn calls her.
"Elizabeth? I believe we're ready to begin."
"Oh, um, okay."
Liz stands and moves toward where Kathryn has been arguing with the television producer. A perky woman with long, brown hair stands next to the producer, and she's introduced to Liz as Joan Callamezzo, the journalist who will conduct the interview. Liz resists the urge to make a comment, but really. The woman's boobs are enormous. She wishes for a moment that they'd gotten someone more…intelligent looking, but then she remembers what her book is about. And anyways, she'll look smarter in comparison, right? Right.
"Welcome back to Pawnee Today: Joan Takes Manhattan. I'm your literary tastemaker, Joan Callamezzo, and with me today is author Elizabeth Lemon. We'll be discussing the latest book to receive the 'Joan's Book Club' stamp of approval. Ms. Lemon's second novel, Dealbreakers: Shut It Down, hits shelves this Thursday. My, Elizabeth, you look exhausted. How are you doing today?"
Liz is seething at the ridiculous intro, but she answers smoothly.
"You know, I'm, uh, hanging in there."
Well, it sounded smooth in her head.
"Great! So, what do you have to say about the recent study that proves there is a drop in the intelligence of pregnant women as they get further along?"
Liz cringes. It's going to be a long day.
…
That evening, they sit on the couch and he rubs her feet. "How did the interview go?"
She shrugs and stretches. "I think it sucked. I may have been delirious from the heat, but yeah. I'm pretty sure it sucked."
"I wish I'd taped it," he says with a squeeze to her left arch.
"Be glad you didn't," she says, frowning. "Oh, I got your message. Do you really have to go to L.A. this week?"
He rubs tight circles on the ball of her foot. "Yes, unfortunately. I have to meet with the quacks at West Coast Programming about fall scheduling. It's only for two days, though."
"Well, I'll ride to the airport with you, if you want. I don't really have much going on," she says gloomily.
"Oh, Lemon, cheer up. The first class lounge is quite nice; I'll show you around if you wish."
She pokes him in the ribs with her toes. "If we leave by two we'll be there in time for dinner, if the traffic's good."
He grins at her. "Far be it for me to postpone your feeding schedule." She jabs him with her toes again and he smirks. "God forbid I'm trapped in the car with a hungry pregnant woman." He slides a hand between his ribs and her foot before he continues, "And could you be anymore fixated on food?"
She arches an eyebrow at him. "That's the worst Chandler impression I've ever heard."
He ducks his head and continues to rub her feet as she relaxes into the couch. She looks down her body, unable to help running her hands over the swell. She feels the moment Jack's hands abandon their healing pressures and take up a more sensual style. When she looks up at his face, she sees that darkened look she's come to expect from him. She still has trouble believing it, but her pregnancy arouses him.
"You've been looking at me like that a lot lately."
"Like what?" he asks innocently.
"As if you could, I dunno...devour me."
He raises his eyebrows. "That's certainly one way to put it." But then his face grows serious and draws her attention back to his dilated pupils. "You're pregnant, Lemon, what can I say?"
Heat blooms through her and she brushes the side of one foot softly against his groin. He isn't completely hard, but she can feel the beginnings of an erection against her arch.
"Lemon," he groans, "what are you doing?"
She'd intended to toss him a flirty retort but instead ended up with a slight whine. "I can't help it when you look at me that way."
He doesn't answer, but his blue eyes harden just a fraction. He drops the foot he was holding and reaches up to push her shirt until it bunches up under her breasts, leaving her belly exposed. He lays a large, warm palm on her stomach, and doesn't move.
The skin beneath his hand tingles with awareness and her breathing becomes shallow, despite her attempts to maintain her composure. "Jack," she finally asks, "what are you doing?"
"Trying to feel the baby move."
"I can't even feel the baby move yet." She shrugs. "But I should be able to feel it soon. And after me, you'll be the first to know."
They sit in silence for a few minutes, and she's about to proclaim that they're being ridiculous when it happens. Something inside of her flutters like the softest wing ever, and her whole universe shifts in a sweet moment of oh. Their baby is moving, Jack's eyes are widening, and even though it's irrational, Liz can't help but think that it is her daughter telling them, "I'm here." Next to Jack's hand, she pats her belly in response.
"I'm here as well, baby, waiting for you."
They share a smile, and she feels her mood change.
"I want to have sex," she says, feeling a little choked up. He looks at her confusedly, for her words don't exactly match her tearful tone.
"Do you have any idea what it feels like to have these hormones coursing through my body?" she clarifies.
"Obviously the answer to that question is 'no', Lemon. But I know what it's like to be in a constant state of arousal. I was a teenage boy once."
With that, he captures her mouth in a lustful kiss, and they nearly topple off the couch.
…
"Uh…wow," Pete says as his eyes scan the TGS sound stage. On a normal day, the area boasts an industrial color palette: black electrical equipment, gray construction tools; naked sets.
But not today.
Today, pink streamers hang from the lighting fixtures. Pink balloons are tied to the director's chairs. Pink tablecloths cover a long table in the center of the room and a smaller table off to the side. On the center of the long table is a pink vase filled with pink flowers. The small table holds a pink cake, pink plates and forks, a pitcher of pink lemonade, and pink cups.
Jenna, who has been hanging a pink "It's A Girl!" banner on the wall, turns at the sound of Pete's voice. "What do you think?"
Pete knows Jenna is looking for a compliment, but none of the first five words that spring to his mind—gaudy, tacky, excessive, over-the-top, nauseating—can be considered complimentary. "It looks…pink."
Jenna rolls her eyes. "Duh, Pete. Liz is having a girl."
He can't wait to see his feminist friend's reaction.
"Yes, she is," Pete says instead, forcing a smile. "Jenna, I'm kinda surprised that you did all this work, to be honest."
"It was a labor of love," Jenna gushes. She has already decided to take all of the credit, even though her involvement begins and ends with hanging a single banner.
"Right." Pete doubts that this is true, but decides to let it go.
Approximately ten minutes later, the writers, a few crew members (it is summer vacation), Paul, Hazel, and Kenneth are all assembled in the lounge. Liz and Jack arrive soon after, and Liz's complaints are audible even from the hallway.
"Jack, what the hell? I don't see what you had to do here that's so important—!"
They turn the corner, and Liz cuts herself off.
"What are you all doing here?" she asks, surprised to see most of her show's employees. Her eyes widen as she takes in the new decor. "And what happened to the stage?"
Jenna beams. "We're here to give you a baby shower, Liz! I decorated," she says with pride. "Doesn't it look amazing?"
"It looks…pink," Liz replied, biting back a laugh. Or a groan. She doesn't really know.
Then she notices the gifts stacked in a corner of the lounge. "Presents, yay!"
Jack smiles at her childlike glee, and everyone sits down at the center table.
"Liz, can I rub your tummy?" Hazel asks, wide-eyed.
"Weird choice of words, Hazel."
"Sorry. But it's just so amazing, what you're growing, inside you…not to mention sexy, and—"
"—Enough, Hazel," Liz interrupts. "The stomach is off limits," she says loudly. She's feeling kind of cranky from the heat, and wants to speed through this event as fast as possible.
Jenna hands Liz a large box decorated with pink wrapping paper and a pink bow.
"Thanks, Jenna." She hopes that didn't sound too harsh, and quickly tears off the wrappings to reveal a soft stuffed animal.
It appears to be a cross between a seal and a unicorn.
"Um…what is it?" she asks, holding it up.
Jenna smiles.
"It's a narwhal, Liz. It's only the most dangerous and majestic of all sea creatures."
"Yeeeah. Okay," Liz says. But she squeezes the cute little toy once more, and can't help smiling.
Everyone is surprised when Frank is the next to volunteer a gift. She carefully unwraps and opens the box, revealing a tiny yellow hat that bears the words 'WORTH THE WAIT' in black block letters.
"Wow," mutters Jack beside her. He's not sure what to make of this.
Liz studies the miniature hat for a moment, and laughs. "Frank, this is perfect."
"Whatever," he says.
But he knows that his present is the best.
…
He calls her the second night he's in LA, around twelve thirty. He sounds weary and she feels bad for insisting he call.
"How was LA today?"
"Well, it's about a thousand degrees hotter here."
Liz is sitting directly in front of the air conditioner in their bedroom, and she says nothing for a moment while she enjoys the air that's tickling her face.
"That's hard to believe. I watched three people faint in the street today," she says.
"I see. What are you wearing?" he asks.
"Nothing," she says. She's mostly telling the truth. She was getting cold from the AC, so she put a thin robe on a few minutes before he called.
He swallows. "Nothing?"
"It's hot, Jack," she whines, a little overdramatically. At the moment, she can't honestly complain. She likes to know that she has an effect on him, though.
"I can imagine. How are you feeling otherwise?" he asks, purposefully changing the subject.
"Fine. I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine. Is it your back?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
"I know that. But I wish I were there. I'd rub it for you."
"I know. And thank you." She shifts on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Did your meeting go okay?"
He sighs. "Yes. I should be out of here by Thursday."
"Wow, that's a short trip," she says.
"That glad to be rid of me, Lemon?"
"Of course not," she says, and is surprised to find a knot in her throat as tears gather in her eyes. She sucks in a deep breath.
"Dear God, Lemon, are you crying?"
"What?" she asks, swiping at her eyes. "No. Don't be dumb."
His voice takes on a teasing edge. "You miss me," he chuckles. "I've been gone for less than forty-eight hours."
"I guess I've gotten used to having you around," she says noncommittally. Her attempt at casual is somewhat ruined by her sniffling.
"I love you too, you know. It occurs to me I didn't tell you that this evening while you were going on and on about the heat."
"I wasn't going on and on," she huffs.
"I beg to differ."
"And on that note, goodnight, Jack."
"Good night, Lemon. Try not to fall off the bed tonight."
"I love you, too," she returns.
…
She wears a black lace-trimmed dress. He recognizes it as the little Dolce & Gabbana number that he'd bought her around her birthday. In the few seconds it takes her to cross the terminal lobby, he has the time to admire the way the lace stretches across the luscious swell of her breasts; how delicate the fabric looks against her skin, pale even in July. (It's the German in her.) He commands his eyes to her face when she comes to a halt in front of the barrier.
"Welcome home," she smiles.
One of his hands finds its way to her curvy hip as she tilts her head to greet him with her lips. They kiss for a minute or so, until he pulls away to retrieve a present from his luggage.
"It's a…snow globe?"
"To keep you cool," he says.
"Where the heck did you find one of these in the middle of July?"
"Don't overthink it, Lemon."
"Thanks, Jack."
She sleeps in trusting abandonment, her skin warm silk, inviting and tempting; her breath sweet and slow. She knows he is there, a comforting presence in the enormous bed. It felt too empty while he was away.
Love is a verb. It's action, a doing word. Maybe it's used to describe two lost souls that found each other. Maybe they turned away from something and made themselves into something else. They trust and protect each other. And now, they love. They do not sit in wait. They take their fears, and in trust, they love. Because love is a doing word.
Jack is glad to be home.
…