18. Sunday In The Park With Fran
When Maxwell Sheffield kissed Fran Fine for the first time, it was CC's misfortune to be standing only three feet away. She saw it all: the sudden joy in Fran's eyes, the boyish embarrassment in Maxwell's, the way he shook her hand over and over again as if to break the spell of the moment. Her violet-and-green dress sparkled in the lights of the bar as she moved away, casting a sidelong glance at her employer.
"Anytime, Mr. Sheffield," she purred. "Anytime!"
CC's stomach turned, and not only from drinking.
"Did you see that?" she hissed, unconsciously clutching Niles' arm to hold herself up.
"I did." He beamed. "When we get home, shall I break out the champagne?"
"The only drink that woman needs is a very cold shower."
She glared after Fran as the other woman sashayed off in search of a seat, followed by Maxwell with their drinks.
"As do you." Niles picked her hand off his sleeve with two fingers, as if it were a ball of lint, and gazed exaggeratedly around the crowd. "Now if only Judy Garland were still with us."
"How unoriginal, Butler Boy, comparing me to the Witch of the West. Nanny Fine used that joke this morning."
"Mm, you're right. That was inappropriate." He turned to her with a cold frown. "Even the Witch of the West has more dignity than you showed today."
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Even if she had thought of a comeback, the lump in her throat made it impossible to speak. Instead she turned her back on him and gulped the last of her whiskey.
Just when I think it's impossible to hate him any more …
A surprisingly gentle hand on her back made her jump. She did not turn around.
"All joking aside, Miss Babcock," said Niles, "What will it take to get you to stop lowering yourself? Not only to Frank Bradley, but to Mr. Sheffield! For your own sake, I'm asking, no, begging you to stop. After what you just saw, do you honestly believe you have any chance with him?"
"Oh, please!" she snarled. "That was a show of gratitude. It means nothing. He does it all the time."
"So when's the last time he kissed you?"
She swore at him, using language that made the bartender nearby snort into his glass.
"Oh for Heaven's sake, Miss Babcock. I'm only trying to help!"
"Well, that's rich!" She whirled around, clutching her fuchsia-colored shawl like a shield, too furious even to cry. "First you talk to me as if I were a streetwalker, then you tell me I'm too desperate to get a man. What am I, a hooker or a spinster? Make up your toilet-scrubbing mind! And now you're telling me you want to help? In what deranged alternate universe could I possibly want your help?"
For a moment, something flashed in Niles' gray eyes that might have been pain – but the next moment, it was gone, leaving CC certain that it must have been a trick of the fluorescent lighting. When she looked closer, his face showed no more emotion than the face of Michelangelo's David.
"Excuse me," he said, "I need to congratulate Mr. Sheffield … in more senses than one."
Which, CC thought, in the words of the immortal Hamlet, was really "the most unkindest cut of all".