Chapter Text
CC Babcock had always been a mystery to Fran Fine, constantly trying to steal her chance with Mr. Sheffield because both of them knew very well who had the better odds (or so they thought). Fran had nearly given up on multiple occasions; between CC Babcock and Fran Fine, the woman Maxwell would look at was the tall blonde with blue eyes, raised in luxury, the one who kept his company afloat. Fran never really stood a chance.
That’s why she was so surprised when she came home and found the small terrace attached to Mr. Sheffield’s office dimly lit, with a little table, two wine glasses, and the man himself leaning over an ice bucket with condensation clinging to the glass. Mr. Sheffield kept adjusting his tie knot every five seconds, and despite the cool October breeze, his forehead gleamed with nervous sweat.
“Miss Fine—no, Fran—come, look, I have a surprise for you.” His voice was a little hoarse, his hand almost reaching for his tie again. He extended his hand, presenting the surprise he had prepared. “I’d like to invite you to dinner, if you don’t mind.”
Fran stood silent for a few seconds, facing the moment she had been waiting for nearly five years. She could already see the ring on her finger and Sylvia Fine bragging about her wealthy son-in-law. Deep in her chest she felt warmth spreading with excitement, her stomach tightening—though she wasn’t sure if it was anxiety or joy.
“Well, Mr. Sheffield, what’s the occasion?” Fran finally snapped out of her stupor and approached Maxwell, her steps hesitant but her usual confidence intact.
“We need to talk.”
Fran almost smiled nervously; she didn’t feel ready for whatever was about to happen. Again the breeze caught her attention, the dim lighting, and the absence of Niles—which was strange, since Maxwell could hardly do anything without him. The atmosphere itself was romantic and surprisingly overwhelming. She had always thought she was prepared for the moment Maxwell would act on his feelings, but the nagging sense that something was missing kept pressing in her chest and lungs.
“Of course,” she replied calmly. “About what exactly?”
His hand went back to his tie knot, he cleared his throat lightly, and lifted his gaze. Maxwell extended his hands to take Fran’s, his palms sweaty enough to make her almost grimace.
“I know we’ve had our ups and downs since I met you, Fran. After Sarah’s death, I never thought I’d feel the same way about anyone else—and I don’t.” Maxwell paused, Fran raising a suspicious eyebrow. “What I feel for you, Fran, is a sensation that overwhelms me, makes my mind light and my heart joyful. My hands sweat every time we’re close, and I can’t stop looking at you; your beauty blinds me and gives me chills. This feeling… I think we could describe it as… love.”
Fran’s heart was probably beating a thousand times per second, the hairs on her neck standing on end in response. She definitely wasn’t prepared. She had literally spent years longing for this moment—for Maxwell to finally sort out his feelings and take her right there in the office. Every time she dreamed of it, she imagined it beginning with a passionate kiss and wandering hands before the big confession. Fran was… satisfied, but the happiness she thought she would feel wasn’t there. Her heart tightened with fear, unsure what would happen if she said no, though she didn’t even know what her answer was.
Suddenly, Maxwell’s office door burst open. They dropped each other’s hands as if they burned, and Mr. Sheffield immediately stood, stepping back into the room to investigate the noise. Fran followed a few steps behind, close enough for the overwhelming Chanel perfume to invade her senses.
“Maxwell, this is urgent—we have a problem the size of Mars.” The blonde held several newspapers and papers in her hands, not even noticing she had interrupted. Maxwell grabbed one of the papers without asking, not easing her load, while CC simply frowned in response. “Billy Porter just declared in an interview that you forced him to sing something he described as, and I quote, ‘vulgar and racist.’”
Maxwell furrowed his brow in surprise and anger. “What the hell are you talking about, CC?” He quickly read the Broadway scandal column. “When did I ever do such a thing?!”
Fran stood there, a little uncomfortable, watching the crisis silently. Suddenly CC’s outfit was more interesting than what had just happened minutes ago: that light blue silk blouse that made her eyes shine, the best-pressed dress pants Fran had ever seen, highlighting her toned—
“Miss Fine, do you have a minute for us?” CC’s attention shifted logically, her husky voice silky in Fran’s ears. “Do me a favor—call Niles with his mop to clean up the mess at the entrance. Apparently the sky decided today wasn’t a good day.”
CC turned her back as she spoke, another wave of her essence blocking Fran’s ability to think. It was strange—Fran was aware CC Babcock was extremely attractive, with a sharp smile and the bluest eyes she had ever seen, but she had never reflected so deeply on the nuances of someone’s perfume. Not even Maxwell, whose cologne she thought she adored, but which now smelled practically like garbage compared to the delicate scent the blonde carried.
“CC, please, Fran is not a maid,” Maxwell tried to defend her, as always.
Fran, desperate to be useful to the blonde (in some non-perverted, non-romantic way, of course), interrupted hastily. “It’s fine, Mr. Sheffield, I’ll let him know.”
Maybe it was her chance to escape Maxwell’s confession—the one she didn’t know how to answer. Her hurried steps carried her to the front door, still drowning in confused thoughts and emotions. She sat on a step to catch her breath, but all she could smell was that damned perfume that surely cost more than she earned in six months. Suddenly she was obsessed with CC Babcock and had no idea why.
“Miss Fine, why are you sitting there so sad? Seems like you’ve been talking a lot with Miss Babcock,” Niles said with a chuckle, carrying a mop and bucket.
At the mention of the blonde’s name, Fran closed her eyes, sighed, rubbed her eyes with her hands, and jumped up with renewed energy.
“Niles, I think Mr. Sheffield just confessed his love for me.” Fran distractedly bit her thumbnail for the first time in years. “I don’t know what to do.”
Niles set down the cleaning tools, silent for a moment as he processed what Fran had said, then stood before her. “You don’t know what to do?”
“No, Niles, I don’t.” Tears threatened to fall as Fran placed her hands desperately on his shoulders. “I thought this was what I always wanted—and it was, for a long time—but now I’m not sure.”
Niles placed his hands gently over hers, with a soft smile unlike his usual sarcastic one. “Miss Fine, I think only you know what you want. You may be confused right now, but that’s completely normal. You’ve waited a long time, and if you have doubts now, maybe it’s time to consider the possibility that you simply got tired of waiting.” He squeezed her hands softly. “It doesn’t matter what Sylvia says, or your sister, or your family—hell, it doesn’t matter what I say. Do what your heart tells you.”
Fran breathed silently for a moment, holding back tears, feeling a weight finally lift off her back. Suddenly breathing wasn’t so hard anymore. Maxwell Sheffield was no longer someone she was interested in.
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Almost a week had passed since Mr. Sheffield’s grand confession, and Fran had been avoiding any moment alone with him. She finally had her feelings for him clear: she still loved him very much, but suddenly she no longer wanted to tear his clothes off every time she saw him. His children were one of the most important reasons for Fran to live, and even the man himself held a very important place in her life, but it was no longer the same.
Fran had a new obsession in her life. She no longer enjoyed drinking coffee in silence for a few minutes, because it made her think of CC Babcock. She couldn’t read the newspaper without remembering how her mouth tightened whenever she read something that didn’t interest her, or how the corners of her eyes wrinkled with joy when she was amused by some gossip section. Her coffee tasted bitter on her tongue when the Chanel perfume penetrated her nostrils and that husky voice insulted Niles with a broken laugh of pure delight.
Fran found herself drinking coffee again—bitter and at the same time tasteless—while CC and Niles exchanged their daily barbs.
“Maybe you should get to cleaning, boy,” CC smiled with malice, throwing a rag in Niles’s face. “Sometimes the help gets far too familiar.”
“How curious, Miss Babcock: always talking about servitude… and not realizing that you yourself are a slave to your loneliness.” Niles took the rag anyway, scrubbing the kitchen counter with care.
CC let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, Niles… such a deep observation from someone whose only companion is a mop. At least my loneliness wears silk; yours smells of cheap bleach.” She wrinkled her nose with delight, and Niles responded with a growl.
And that is how Fran remembered the moment later. She didn’t even recall Niles being there—only CC smiling and wrinkling her nose in such a tender way that Fran wanted to leave a little kiss there, just to make her wrinkle it even more. Fran closed her eyes in anger; she had never thought she would say “tender” and associate it with CC Babcock. In any case, she still didn’t know what this interest was that the blonde had awakened in her for some time.
Several memories flooded her mind, always wanting to get closer, to know her, to be her friend. That must be it. Val was a very good friend and practically her only one; CC was always there, they interacted every day, shared a coffee in silence—she was the perfect candidate.
With a smile full of confidence, Fran was finally able to give a name to this new obsession: friendship. That was what she sought, friendship. She let out a sigh of relief, since she had almost thought she was interested in her in another way, which was not possible—her homosexual phase had been long ago.
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Now that Fran had a plan, it was much easier to interact with Miss Babcock: serving her a cup of coffee in a clean glass, taking her coat when she arrived at work, no longer laughing at Niles’s jokes (which, to be honest, no longer seemed so funny now that she saw beyond the mask CC wore for the world).
Her attention wasn’t that much—or at least that’s what Fran thought. She believed those details, that small effort she made to draw out a smile or at least a lift of one of the corners of her mouth painted in bright red, were basic human decency. But apparently no one had ever treated CC Babcock that way, because now they were in the kitchen, alone, and the blonde was staring at her with furrowed brows.
Fran couldn’t bear the weight of those blue eyes any longer and decided to break the silence of their moment alone after many days. “Would you like something to eat, Miss Babcock?”
CC stayed silent for a moment, still staring at Fran. Suddenly she stepped a little too close, invading her personal space. One of her hands rested on Fran’s forehead suspiciously, her brows furrowing even more.
“You don’t have a fever, Nanny Fine. I wonder what you want from me that you’ve been acting so nice lately,” she said, resting a hand on her chin. “Do you want me to give Maxwell a message? Because you know I won’t.”
Fran stayed quiet for a moment, analyzing her words with some confusion, until she laughed when she understood.
“I’m just being nice, Miss Babcock. Has no one ever been?” She sipped her coffee, waiting for a response.
“I don’t believe you. I’m going to find out what you’re plotting, Nanny Fine.”
The blonde gave her one last look full of distrust, but still took the cup Fran had served her and left the kitchen, almost fleeing the situation. That moment only seemed to embolden Fran’s spirit even more and her desire to be her friend. CC would never see her coming.