Ha ha, I did it! I finished this chapter just before I have to put my fun-writing stories on hiatus to concentrate on a super-intensive stretch of school-writing. I hate to have do it, and I'm sorry, but this story does have an ending and I will write it out after I've finished revising my thesis draft. Thanks so much for your wonderful, encouraging comments! I hope you enjoy this next part! :)
Chapter Five
Lilith took a sip of her drink and went straight back to writing, her attention wholly on her notes. Frasier glanced at her from across the table and fidgeted, no longer even pretending to be absorbed in the psychiatric journal on the table in front of him.
"Lilith, darling," he said. "Might I pose a question?"
"Please, Frasier, I have been fielding questions all day," she said flatly, her eyes never leaving her notebook. "We came to this bar to unwind; to spend some quality time together in a relaxed, social atmosphere. Might I suggest you would be a happier person if you learned to leave your work at the office and use this time to indulge in other interests?"
She shot a pointed glance at his highly academic reading material.
Frasier bristled and slammed the journal shut.
"Me? What about you?" he said hotly.
Lilith looked up, her pale face blank.
"What about me?" she asked.
"You had that notebook out before we even sat down with our drinks!" he complained. "If that is not the classic sign of a workaholic—"
"Frasier, once again you leap to conclusions without first analyzing all available data," Lilith said, her voice entirely monotone. "You should know by now, I keep my lab records in my black and white notebook. This notebook is dark gray."
Frasier blinked.
"Gray…? You mean…?"
"Yes, Frasier," she said, the slightest hint of a coquettish smile tweaking her lips. "This is my personal diary…more specifically, the volume relating to my impressions of our relationship."
"And the cover is gray," he repeated. "Not black and white."
"That's right," she said, and Frasier broke into a delighted grin.
"You do love me!" he exclaimed.
"Of course, darling."
Lilith patted his hand, rather as she would a cocker spaniel's head, and turned her attention back to her writing.
From his bar stool vantage point, Norm rolled his eyes over to Paul.
"Weird couple," Paul commented.
Norm grunted his agreement and started to raise his beer mug, but stopped mid motion and set it down again.
"Hey, don't look now," he said, "but I think an even stranger pair just walked through the door."
"Evening, everyone," Cliff greeted as the door closed behind him, cheerfully guiding a petite, blonde woman in a figure-hugging yellow dress toward the bar. She looked to be in her late thirties, with large eyes and a round face. Most of the regulars couldn't help noticing that, beneath her impeccable make-up, her cheeks were colored with the same happy flush as Cliff's…or that, although Cliff was dressed in a new navy blue suit with dark shoes, he still wore white socks. "I'd like you all to meet Carolyn. Carolyn, these are the guys I've been telling you about."
As Cliff introduced her to Sam, Woody, Norm, Carla, and Rebecca, Lilith turned her gaze to Frasier. Frasier returned her gaze, his slack-jawed expression quickly morphing to smug self-satisfaction.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or has Clifford somehow managed to secure a date?" Lilith said in flat surprise.
"Your eyes are not deceived, my love," Frasier said, making a show of flipping through his date book. "Cliff is, in fact, on a legitimate date. And with—oh, what's that? More than a week to spare? Looks like it's time for someone to admit that my approach is the more effective, hm? Well?"
Lilith leaned forward slightly.
"All right, Frasier, what's the trick?" she demanded.
"Trick?" Frasier looked affronted. "Trick?!"
"Yes, Frasier, trick," Lilith repeated. "A tongue-tied wretch like Cliff who, when confronted with the prospect of romantic commitment, suffers a variety of severe psychosomatic anxiety disorders, from 'hysterical' blindness to nervous paralysis, does not just up and snag a date with a confident, attractive woman like that after one quick chat in the back room of a bar. So, tell me: exactly what did you do?"
"Do!" Frasier huffed. "I talked to him, Lilith, that's what I did! And it wasn't just that one 'chat.' I've talked to him several times over the past few days. I used my skills as a highly trained, professional psychiatrist to reinforce the—"
"And these are the good Drs. Crane and Sternin-Crane," came Cliff's voice as the happy mailman led his date to their table. "Frasier here's the one who helped me get over that, eh, that nervous shyness I was telling you about...and, uh, you know… Find the courage to…ask you out."
He smiled bashfully, and the woman's expression seemed to melt.
"That's so wonderful," she said, and turned a beaming smile on Frasier. "Then, I guess we both owe you a thank you, Dr. Crane. I was beginning to worry I wouldn't make any real friends in Boston. But, these past few days with Cliff have been, well, so magical…"
"You've gotta be kidding," Carla blurted.
"Not at all," Carolyn said, her voice bright with earnest affection. "Why, just yesterday, Cliff took me out on a tour of his route. I have to say, you haven't really seen a city until you've looked at it through the eyes of a postal carrier. Actually, it's a little known fact that—"
"Stop!" Carla exclaimed, then gasped, "Oh my God, he's contagious… I knew it, I knew this would be dangerous…"
The waitress grabbed the yellow-clad woman by the shoulders and pushed her until her back was pressed against the wall.
"What the—" she started.
"Run," Carla warned, her dark eyes wide and serious. "Run now! Get out of here while you still have a chance at a normal life!"
Carolyn looked utterly bewildered.
"Are you feeling all right?" she asked.
Sam looked like he was about to intervene but, to everyone's surprise, Cliff moved first.
"Carla, please," he said, getting between the waitress and his date. "These jokes of yours at my expense may have been funny enough for the first fifteen years or so, but it's getting a little old. Now, Carolyn and I have a reservation up at Melville's. If you promise to lay off this childish nonsense, we might just come back down here after our dinner for a, uh, a digestif."
He looked to Carolyn.
"That's the word, right honey?"
"It is according to the Sunday crossword," Carolyn said, and smiled, taking Cliff's hand in hers. "Well, it was good to meet you all. Come on, sweetie, we don't to be late."
"Don't say I didn't warn you!" Carla shouted after them as the pair headed up the stairs to Melville's restaurant. Then, she turned on Frasier.
"All right, egg-head, what did you do," she demanded, grabbing him by the tie and twisting the cloth around her fist.
Frasier put on his best insulted look, struggling to pry his tie from Carla's fingers.
"I don't see why everyone assumes that—"
"Come on, Frasier, you saw the same thing we just did," Sam said. "Cliff was confident, secure – and assertive enough to actually stand up to Carla!"
"Sammy's right, Doc," Norm said. "People don't change that much in just a couple of days. Not without a little…uh…outside stimulation, if you get my meaning…"
There was an acknowledging mumble, and Frasier's eyes widened in disbelief.
"What?" he huffed. "Just what are you all suggesting? Do you honestly think I would drug Cliff after that traumatic experience he suffered while enrolled in Lilith's trial?"
"Hmph," Lilith grunted.
"OK, maybe it wasn't drugs," Carla said. "But you sure did something screwy to that nutball's brain. And it's that Carolyn woman who's gonna get the worst of it when Cliff's brain bounces back!"
"I assure you, I—" Frasier started, but Lilith's sudden exclamation cut him off.
"Hypnotism!"
"I beg your pardon!" Frasier balked, his florid face becoming alarmingly pale.
"That's it, isn't it," Lilith said, her eyes sharpening as her certainty grew. "You hypnotized Cliff into believing himself to be a strong, confident man, thereby bypassing the actual therapy required to help him build any real confidence of his own. It's a con, a sham, an empty—"
"But, it worked!" Frasier protested. "You all saw the results! He's happier with who he is now than he's ever been in his life!"
"It's dangerous," Lilith retorted firmly. "Frasier, I must say, I'm with Carla on this one. If your implanted hypnotic suggestions, whatever they may be, should falter for any reason, poor Cliff will revert back to his old, anxiety-riddled self in less time than it takes me to snap my fingers."
She snapped in demonstration.
Frasier paled again.
"Oh dear…" he said.
"What?" Rebecca said from behind the bar. "What's 'oh dear' supposed to mean?"
"Well…" Frasier squirmed a little in his chair. "I may have implanted the order that…when I snap my fingers Cliff is to, well, forget all my implanted suggestions."
"You mean, if Mr. Clavin hears a finger-snap, he'll revert back to his old self? Right in front of Carolyn and everyone?" Woody asked.
"On the spot," Frasier mumbled. "Unless, of course, someone's there to, well, snap him back into his, um, post-hypnotic state..."
Carla looked sick. Lilith shook her head in stern disapproval.
"Hey, Sammy," Norm said, "Doesn't that maître d' guy up at Melville's have this really annoying habit of snapping his fingers when a table's ready?"
Sam nodded thoughtfully.
"You know, Norm, I think he does," he said.
"Then, shouldn't someone get up there?" Rebecca asked, looking anxiously up the stairs. "If that maître d' should snap—"
"Oh, God…" Frasier moaned, and rushed across the bar toward the stairs. "Cliff!" he shouted as he ran. "Cliff, come down, I need to talk with you for just a minute—!"
"Eh?" Cliff called back. "That you, Doc?"
"Clavin, your table for two is ready," the maître d's voice echoed down the staircase, accompanied by a loud snap…
To Be Continued…
References include Cheers: How To Marry A Mailman.
Until next time! Happy St. Patrick's Day! :)