The Last Holdout

(This story takes place in 1994, four years after "The Bradys" ended. All three original Brady sisters are here - no Leah Ayres or Jennifer Runyon or Geri Reischl, the "substitute Brady girls"!)

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"Whew, what a blowout." Dr. Greg Brady yawned widely. "Thank God it's over!"

It was approaching 2:30 AM, and he was sitting with four other men around the table in Mike and Carol Brady's kitchen. At six in the evening of the previous day, Cindy Brady had married Scott Jensen and the reception had ended less than an hour ago. Now Scott and Cindy were on their way to their honeymoon in Sydney, Australia, and Greg sat with his two younger brothers, Peter and Bobby, and their brothers-in-law, Wally Logan and Philip Covington III. Wally had married the Brady boys' sister Marcia, and Phillip Covington had married their sister Jan, on the same day more than ten years before. Marcia and Jan, along with Greg's wife Nora and Bobby's wife Tracy, had gone to bed in exhaustion, leaving the party mess to be cleaned up later.

Bobby grinned. "I warned Scott over and over to think twice before he married Cindy," he cracked. "But there's no getting him to listen - he's had it bad for Cindy ever since high school."

"At least now they're all married off," said Phillip. "Mike and Carol shouldn't have to worry about footing the expenses for any more weddings."

"Aren't you forgetting somebody?" Greg hinted at him.

"Yeah, Pete, when're you gonna join the old Ball 'n' Chain Club?" added Wally, smirking. They all laughed, except for Peter, whose expression looked faraway. "Hey." Wally snapped his fingers in front of Peter's nose, startling him. "Earth to Peter Brady."

"Sorry," Peter said. "I must be more tired than I thought. I'm spacing out."

"What's got you so lost in thought?" Greg asked.

Peter started to say something and then hesitated, leaving room for his brothers and brothers-in-law to exchange knowing looks. Sure enough, Wally jumped right in. "Don't tell me. You saw some hot chick at the wedding and you're all hung up on her."

"What else would be new?" Phillip joked.

"Nobody says 'hot chick' anymore," Bobby snorted, evoking more laughter. "Come to think of it, Pete, you looked pretty spaced out at the wedding and the reception too. Who is she?"

"How do you know it's a woman?" Peter challenged uncomfortably, trying to worm his way out of having to talk about this subject.

"Pete, we know you," Greg said. "We're your brothers. You've had it bad for practically every woman in California since you were at least twelve or thirteen. So 'fess up. Who's the woman?"

Peter hesitated one more time, then turned to Bobby. "Who was that bridesmaid with the blonde hair and green eyes, in the pink dress, carrying the pink roses? She looked related to Scott."

"She is," Bobby told him, immediately recognizing the woman from Peter's description. "She's Scott's younger sister and her name's Christina. Scott told me she just moved back from Boston after she got laid off. Is she the one you're interested in?"

Peter nodded. "I should've gotten her number. Now I'll have to wait till Scott and Cindy get back from Australia."

"She might be in the phone book," Wally said.

"Not if she just moved here," Phillip pointed out. "Anyway, Peter, you have good taste. Even Jan said she was the prettiest of all three bridesmaids." He yawned. "If you'll excuse me, fellows, I'm going to hit the sack. It's past my bedtime."

The Brady brothers and Wally watched him go. "He's barely forty and already he's an old fogey," Wally commented. "I could go on till at least sunrise."

"Well, then, happy partying," said Greg, grinning. "I'm too old to stay up this late. How about you, Bob, ready to pack it in?"

Bobby nodded. "Tracy's probably lying awake waiting for me," he said. He reached for the cane that leaned against the counter beneath the sink and got to his feet. Bobby had made tremendous progress since an accident on the race track four years before had left his spine badly injured. For most of a year he had been confined to a wheelchair, and the process of learning to walk again had been lengthy and painful. His doctors, however, were convinced that one day he'd be walking normally and even running again.

Peter also rose. "I've had enough coffee," he said. "Night, guys." The three brothers left Wally sitting alone at the table, his mouth open with disbelief.

"A whole bunch of old fogies," he muttered to himself and examined the coffee dregs in his cup. "Well, can't let that coffee go to waste."

"Oh yes you can," said a female voice, and Wally found himself staring at his wife, Marcia. Marcia hadn't changed much since they were married; she was still slim and gorgeous, with her cute cleft chin and her enormous blue eyes. "Come on, Wally, it's past your bedtime, too."

"Party pooper," Wally grumbled, but it was easy to see he didn't mind joining his wife. He slipped an arm around her waist as they turned out the light and ambled out of the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Bang, bang, bang. Ding-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling. Cindy Brady Jensen groaned and rolled over so she could swat her brand-new husband, Scott, on the arm. "Stop making all that noise."

"It's not me," Scott grunted back. He sounded like a caveman just waking up.

The banging and insistent ringing sounded again, this time accompanied by a shouting voice. "Hey, you lazy bums, get up! I gotta talk to you!"

Cindy sat up, now wide awake. "It's Peter! What's he doing here at this hour?" She jumped out of bed and yanked on her robe, scurrying barefooted to the front door of the cozy 1920s bungalow she and Scott shared. The light was still dim with early morning and she wondered if her brother had awakened their neighbors yet with all his ruckus.

Peter was just raising his fist to pound on the door again when his sister opened it and glared at him. Before he could speak, she demanded, "Do you know what time it is, Peter Brady?"

"Yeah, I know it's five in the morning, but this is urgent. Don't you have to get up for work anyway?" Peter asked.

"Scott and I gave ourselves two days to get over our jet lag before we go back to work," Cindy informed him, "and you just spoiled one of my last days to sleep in. What's the big emergency, and why couldn't it wait till civilized people are out of bed?"

Peter glanced at the houses on either side of them. "Do you mind if I come in? I don't want the neighbors overhearing." Cindy rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let him in.

"You didn't seem too worried about them overhearing when you were yelling at us to get up. For the last time, what's the story?"

"Your bridesmaid," Peter said, deciding he might as well come directly to the point. Cindy closed the door while he continued, "Scott's sister. I asked Bobby about her after the reception, and he told me about her. He said Christina just moved back here from Boston. Is that true?"

"Yeah," Cindy said, frowning. "I suppose you want her phone number."

Peter blinked at her. "How'd you know?"

Cindy rolled her eyes again. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure you out, Peter. Not with all the women you've dated since junior high!" She grinned at Peter's disgruntled expression, then grew serious again and studied her brother. "Look, Peter, before you leap into yet another relationship, there are some things you need to know about Christina. First of all, you'll be darned lucky even to get her to go out with you. She got laid off from her job, and her boyfriend in Boston dumped her for another woman, all in the same week. So she's really hurting right now, and I don't think she'll be too receptive to the idea of dating somebody again this soon."

Peter shrugged. "Okay, I'll remember that. I can be a sensitive guy too, you know. What else?"

"Well, Christina's kind of an old-fashioned girl," Cindy said slowly. "I've known her only a month or so myself, but she and I are pretty good friends. She's not the type of woman you usually go for, so if you're really interested in her, you'll have to be a gentleman."

"I'm always a gentleman!" Peter protested indignantly. "And what do you mean, the type of woman I usually go for? What type of woman would that be, exactly?"

"Oh, you know," Cindy said and smirked. "Young, single, gorgeous, skinny . . . chesty. And not too bright most of the time."

"Just a minute," Peter broke in. "What about Kerry, and Valerie, and . . ."

"Okay, okay, so there've been a few exceptions," Cindy conceded. "But you'll notice they didn't work out, and you wound up right back with the bombshells and the bimbos. Trisha, and Katie, and Lisa, and Allison, and Linda, and Suzy . . . oh yeah, and don't forget the twins, Mindy and Mandy. I have to say this for you, Peter, you're an equal-opportunity boyfriend. But Christina doesn't fit into that category. She may be blonde and beautiful, but she's no bimbo. She absolutely won't go in for one of your one-night stands."

Peter guiltily swallowed back the retort he'd been about to make. By and large, Cindy was right about the long string of women he'd dated, from high school through college, the Army, and a succession of assorted jobs. His current position with an environmental-concerns outfit had lasted longer than any other job he'd ever had. And heaven knew he'd dated, or tried to date, every woman who worked in the place (except the receptionist, Mrs. Rasmussen, who he was sure must be at least 75 and never stopped talking about her husband, Mort the hypochondriac). Peter sighed; he really didn't have a whole lot of luck with women, and he wanted very much to change that.

Cindy waited, but when Peter didn't speak, she shrugged. "Okay, I guess you're having second thoughts."

"No," Peter blurted hastily. "I was just thinking. Okay, so Christina's hurting, and she's old-fashioned. Anything else I should know?"

Cindy considered this for a moment, then met her brother's gaze. "Well, maybe one more thing. Don't go pounding on her door at five in the morning," she told him pointedly.

Now it was Peter's turn to roll his eyes. "Okay, okay, I get the hint already. Thanks for the advice." He started for the door.

"Thought you wanted Christina's phone number," Cindy said dryly.

"Oh . . . right," Peter mumbled and waited till she had written it down for him. He tucked the slip of paper into his pocket and turned to her. "Thanks again, Cindy . . . and good night." Grinning at Cindy's exasperated groan, he let himself out and sauntered across the lawn to his car.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On Monday morning Peter got to work just before 8:00 and was on his way to his desk when he got waylaid by Mrs. Rasmussen. "Peter, thank goodness you're here. We finally got replacements for those six girls who quit last month, and they're all starting today."

"That's nice," said Peter. "Who's training them?"

"You are," Mrs. Rasmussen told him, freezing him in mid-stride. She handed him a piece of paper. "Class starts in an hour, so don't be late and set a bad example for those young ladies." She pinched his cheek as if she were his long-dead grandmother, smiled ingratiatingly and strode back to her desk, her mission accomplished.

"Yeesh," Peter muttered under his breath and glanced at the paper. It was a list of names, presumably of the new employees. Jenny Anderson, Allison Caine (not her again-that's the third time she's signed up for this job! Peter thought), Maura Gray, Heather Greene, Christina Jensen and Bonnie McCauley. Peter stopped cold and stared at the fifth name. Was this the same girl whose phone number he'd had to pry out of Cindy two days ago?

An hour later he had his answer. He'd know that silky golden hair and those emerald eyes anywhere. Christina Jensen sat a little apart from the other trainees, gazing at the handbook all new employees were given on their first day, but occasionally braving a shy glance at the others. Peter's other five "pupils" had all sat around one of the three tables in the room and were chattering like monkeys when he walked into the room. The moment he saw Christina, he knew she was the one he was looking for. She had watched him enter the room, and he smiled at her. Christina offered a bashful return smile and hastily returned her attention to the handbook.

Peter cleared his throat a bit nervously. "Well, ladies, good morning, I'm Peter Brady," he said, and immediately the other five women stopped talking and turned to him. Their faces broke out into wide smiles, and Peter just couldn't help smiling back. They were all gorgeous, without exception. He had never quite understood why so many women who looked like models seemed to want to work here, but he had never seriously questioned it - at least, not till now!

"So you'll be training us this time, Peter," cooed a sultry-looking redhead decked out in a tank top and running shorts, and Peter's smile disappeared. He'd know Allison Caine anywhere too. They'd had a brief fling a couple of years before, and it hadn't ended very well. Allison was one of the few who seemed really hurt when Peter broke things off with her, and to this day she carried a grudge. Just his luck to get stuck training her.

"Yep, looks that way," Peter agreed weakly. Fortunately he had trained several groups of new employees before, so he was able to launch directly into the material with one part of his brain while devoting another section of it to wondering whether Christina Jensen's presence made up for Allison Caine's. He kept glancing at Christina throughout the training class, deciding at great length that if he succeeded in winning her over, it would be worth putting up with Allison.

The class ended at noon for lunch, and when the others headed for the door, Peter managed to catch Christina on her way out. "Excuse me," he said, "you're Christina, aren't you?"

Christina gave him a puzzled stare. "Yes, I am." Her face turned worried. "I'm not flunking out, am I?"

"Oh no, no!" Peter assured her hurriedly. "I just thought . . . well, I was wondering, would you like to have lunch with me? There's a great little Italian place right down the street and they don't take all day about bringing your order . . ." He stopped, afraid he was rambling.

Christina regarded him for a long moment, her delicate face a study in concentration. "You look familiar," she mused. Then she lit up. "Wait, I remember now! You were at Scott's wedding. One of Cindy's brothers, right?"

Peter beamed. "Yeah! I really wanted to talk to you at the reception, but somehow I couldn't seem to get anywhere near enough to you to do that. How about lunch?"

"It sounds good," Christina said. "I love Italian food. I developed a real taste for it when I lived in Boston. Colin and I must have tried every restaurant in the North End . . ." She broke off, her face clouding over. "Well, anyway, let's hurry before lunch hour's over."

Their lunch was very enjoyable, and they spent it getting acquainted. Back at work, Peter said, "I guess you can just sit at one of those empty desks and stuff envelopes this afternoon. But wait . . . before you go . . . could I give you a call sometime?"

Christina hesitated, as if thinking about it, then lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug and smiled at him. "That might be nice. All right then."

"Great," Peter said happily. "See you later on."

"But Peter," Christina reminded him gently, "don't you want my number?"

"I already - " Peter stopped himself just in time. He could hardly tell Christina he'd gotten her number from Cindy! "Yeah, of course, sorry." That was twice in three days he'd almost walked off without getting that all-important phone number. Oh well. He could always keep both slips of paper as insurance in case he lost one. He whistled to himself as he returned to his desk, unaware of Allison Caine's narrowed glare from across the room.