Chapter Text
Some days, Daphne woke up thinking she was still in Chicago. In that hazy time before true wakefulness she would roll over and wonder why the bed felt different, why the light was coming from a window on the wrong side of the room, why the noise outside wasn’t what she was used to, and why couldn’t she hear Joe’s quiet snoring? Then she would sit up, look around at her nice bedroom where she slept alone, notice that her pajamas were made of silk, and the wild ride of the past few months would come rushing back. She was Daphne now and she lived in LA, still with Joe (but now they were in an apartment large enough for them to have their own rooms), and the silk pajamas were a somewhat saucy gift from her millionaire fiancé. It didn’t happen often, but it was always interesting when it did. Rediscovering her new life in the span of a couple of groggy, sleep addled seconds was certainly one way to start the day. It gave her a strange, but pleasant buzz of energy.
Though not quite enough energy to resist the alluring smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. She put on her robe and wandered out to find Joe at the table, hunched over the newspaper. She glanced over his shoulder on her way to the stove.
“Oh, look! Have we finally moved on from the funny pages?” She joked, ruffling his hair.
“Hilarious.” Joe muttered, batting her hand away. “Are you ever going to get tired of that one?” He asked.
“Probably not,” she admitted, helping herself to coffee and joining him at the table.
“You’re going to need to learn how to make your own coffee soon. Or does Osgood have a team of cooks to do all of that?” He looked up at her, grinning.
“I know how to make coffee,” she insisted, full of indignation.
“Not good coffee,” Joe said with a bark of laughter. “You don’t want to poison your husband, do you? Let the cook do it.”
Truthfully, he was indeed the better coffee maker between the two of them, but she didn’t think hers was that bad. Instead of trying to argue more, Daphne just scowled at him over the rim of her cup. Joe grinned and tried to throw his napkin at her face, but she just caught it and threw it back at him.
“Speaking of husbands, how’s wedding planning going? Have you set a date yet?” He asked, balling up the napkin and putting it aside.
She nodded and shifted in her chair. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that.” Joe cocked his head, looking like a confused puppy. “We’re still thinking December. How would you feel about visiting New York? And do you think Sugar would come along?”
“I bet she’d love it. Why? What’s in New York?”
“Different laws. Here, Osgood and I can have a party, and we will. But we want to get married properly. So, New York.” And here she’d thought the Jerry/Daphne thing would be the biggest hurdle to get over, but that turned out to be the easy part! The real issue was that California wouldn’t marry mixed couples.
“So no big splashy wedding?” Joe's eyebrows went up in surprise. “Huh, I figured Osgood would want to pull out all the stops, invite the whole world. I’ve seen how he shows you off whenever you’re out together.”
Daphne inclined her head in acknowledgment, smiling. “Like I said: party. We will be pulling every stop there is to pull, probably around Christmas or new years. The world can celebrate with us then.” She put her cup down, looking serious. “But the actual moment we become husband and wife? The world will never fully understand everything that moment means to us. You will. We need witnesses, but we don’t need an audience. What do you think?”
Joe smiled and put a hand on her arm, “I think it’ll be a lot more fun to be a wedding witness than a murder witness.”
Daphne laughed and downed the last of her coffee. “Get a real answer from Sugar and I’ll let Osgood know he can buy the train tickets.”
“Oooh, first class?”
“Naturally.” Their penny pinching days were well behind them.
“I’m definitely going to enjoy this millionaire brother-in-law situation,” he remarked, lifting his mug in a toast.
“Just as long as you’re not trying to be a gold-digger-in-law.” She gave him a warning look, but he could see the humor in her eyes.
“You wound me!” He put a hand to his heart with an exaggerated expression of dismay. “Is it gold digging to appreciate the lovely generosity of your fiancé?” He was laying it on a bit thick, but she appreciated the sentiment.
“Skating on thin ice, brother.” She managed a couple of seconds of stern eye contact before she cracked and smiled. She got up and went to wash her cup in the sink.
“That’s the only kind of ice this place ever sees,” Joe muttered. "I’ll never miss a Chicago winter, but this summer all year thing is weird.”
“I was just thinking the same thing! Sometimes I wake up and wonder why it’s so warm before I remember where we are.”
Joe turned around sharply, his chair rocking dangerously with the motion. “Oh thank God it’s not just me!” He exclaimed. “I keep trying to figure out whose bed I’m in. Then I’ll be halfway to the door when I actually wake up and realize I don’t sleep around like that anymore and I’m sneaking out of my own room.” He smacked himself on the forehead and shook his head, laughing.
“Do you think we’ll ever get used to all this?” Daphne asked.
“I don’t know.” Joe hesitated and then offered, “The days I wake up next to Sugar, I know exactly where I am. That’s something, right?”
She smiled. She knew just what he meant. They had both found people who felt like home. Whatever tricks their minds tried to play on them in those weird moments between sleeping and waking, as long as they had their partners and had each other, they would know exactly where they were. “Definitely something.”
— — —
Planning a wedding was no easy feat. Of course Daphne had attended weddings, had been in the band for a few, seen newspaper articles about the kinds of weddings the rich and famous put on, but she had never been involved in planning one outside of accepting a gig or sending an RSVP. Sitting with Osgood and pouring over invitation lists and paper samples, she never imagined just how many details there were to consider. She was starting to go cross-eyed. And they weren’t even technically planning the wedding! They were planning how best to reappropriate Osgood’s annual New Year’s party into their delayed reception for when they returned from the actual wedding in New York.
Eventually she just had to ask, “How in the world did you manage to do this four times?”
“Well, truthfully, I didn’t really. Each of my previous weddings were mostly organized by the bride and her mother,” Osgood explained, “They were all of the opinion that a man’s perspective would hinder more than help the process. So I’m actually quite enjoying that I get to be involved this time! Though I see your point. I don’t think I fully appreciated just how much they were taking on before.”
“There is so much!” She agreed. “And for the record, I couldn’t imagine doing any of this without your perspective,” she assured him, taking his hand.
“Thank you, my dear. Nor I without yours.” He gave her hand a squeeze. Looking around at the table covered in notes and samples and lists, he let out a short sigh. “We have been at this for quite some time though, perhaps we’re due for a break,” he suggested, much to Daphne’s relief. They abandoned the busy table and moved to the sofa. She sat back and gestured for him to lean against her. He hummed contentedly as he settled his head on her shoulder. She smiled in response and brought a hand up to stroke over his beard, then started to gently run her fingers through his hair. He glanced up at her, “Isn’t this the kind of pampering treatment I should be giving you?”
She huffed a laugh, “Honey, I’m wearing a wig and if you tried this with my actual hair your fingers would just get stuck.”
He giggled and shrugged and Daphne had no doubt he was brainstorming ways to return the favor somehow. After a few moments of comfortable silence, Osgood broached a new topic, “There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he started. “Not about the wedding, something else.” She nodded and waited for him to continue. “I was wondering, how might you feel about visiting one of my old haunts?”
“Old haunts?”
He nodded and sat up so he could face her properly. “Yes. I haven’t been back in years, but I used to go there occasionally before I was married. And once or twice in between marriages. It’s a night club of sorts. A place of the utmost discretion where those of a certain persuasion can find… like minded people?”
She smiled. “Oh that sort of old haunt.” This wasn’t the first time he implied having been to such places, but it was the first time he’d alluded to being a regular at one in particular.
“It’s a part of my life I’ve kept more or less secret. Until you. You are the first person to truly know every facet of who I am and I want to share that with you to the fullest extent I can.”
They had spoken a few times by now about Osgood’s appreciation for beauty in all its forms, as he called it. Daphne was fascinated by how deeply he seemed to understand himself and his desires and the world. He was always so open and willing to share with her the intimate details of his life. He’d told her how hard won all of that understanding was, and of his own confusion and moments of self discovery. He made it easy to do the same. It had given her the opportunity to think more and open up about what she’d recently realized was a longstanding lack of understanding of her own self. She told him about that nebulous feeling of something missing that she had dealt with for years; that strange sensation of yearning, yet having no idea what for. Turned out they had more in common than they ever could have thought. Most of the time Daphne gave no thought to how much older Osgood was, but those conversations marked moments when she was grateful for the years he had on her and the experience and insight those years allowed him to share.
“I remember hearing about a few of those clubs when Joe and I were working the speakeasies back in Chicago. I never even considered going to any of them because I didn’t think I was part of that crowd.” She laughed a bit, “Little did I know.”
“And,” he added, “when I used to go, I met a few people who were like you.”
Her eyes went wide. “You did?”
“Well, no one is really like you. I’ve never before met someone so uniquely wonderful as you! But, well, I’m sure you know what I meant. I don’t know if any of them still frequent the club, but even if they don’t I’m sure there must be others who do! Would you like to meet them?”
She took a deep breath, “I think I would.”
“Oh excellent! I do hope you like it. I think you will. I hope you will.”
Daphne couldn’t help but laugh at his excited stammering and leaned in for a kiss that she could barely manage from how much she was smiling. “What should I wear?”
“Absolutely anything you like, my dear!” He exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as they always did at the idea of her dressed up. “The fashions really run the gamut from what I remember. There was everything from tattered working clothes to more feathers than I’ve ever seen on a person in my life. But of course, no matter what you wear, you will be the most beautiful person in the room.”
“Flatterer.” She poked at his chest playfully.
“Well, what else am I supposed to do? Pretend you’re not the most stunning being in all creation? What would be the point of that?” There was some humor in his tone, but Daphne also knew by now that he meant every word. She pressed another kiss to his lips and guided him in to lean on her again. They would get back to their planning soon enough.