When she walked in, I wasn't even paying attention. I was concentrating on not screwing up the song. Playing the piano was never one of my strong suits, but it was something to do, and I actually thought I was getting better at it.
She orders a drink at the bar, and then sits at the table next to me. I finally notice her. Pitch black hair cascades down her back. It matches her dress, a simple yet elegant black thing that hugged her ample curves all the way to her ankles. She was wearing black sandals with heels, which intrigued me - most women would have gone with stilettos. I look back up at her face and find her looking back at me, a small smirk playing across her lips.
"See anything you like?" The tone of her voice was interesting. She wasn't telling me off, she was egging me on.
"Nice shoes," I say, nodding at her sandals.
She crosses her legs, and I get an idea of how well proportioned they are. "These old things?" She says, a little surprise edging its way into her voice. "That's what caught your eye?"
"Yep," I reply, smiling cryptically. I've gotten quite good at it recently.
She gives me a look halfway between fascination and amusement and I finally get a good look at her eyes through the subdued lighting of the bar. They're a deep brown and very beautiful, but that's not what I notice. It's the spark in them that draws my attention. I had never seen anything like it before. It was an energy that excited me, and a maturity that enthralled me. A wisdom that intrigued me, and an intelligence that fascinated me. Maybe I hadn't paid enough attention to women to see it before. Maybe I just hadn't looked hard enough.
Regardless, in that brief moment, I decided that I had to know this woman.
"What's your name?" I ask idly, smiling as I ended one song and began another.
"What's yours?" She retorts, crossing her arms in front of her.
"I asked you first."
"So?"
"Well if you don't tell me yours, I won't tell you mine."
She takes a moment to look me up and down. I'm not exactly dressed in my Sunday best - grey zip up hoodie, black slacks, and a five o'clock shadow, not to mention the blue beanie covering my hair with PaPa written in pink on the side. Surprisingly, my hat is not what she stares at the most.
"Nice shoes," she says with a smirk, nodding towards my open toed sandals.
I just smile at her, tapping my feet to the rhythm of my piano.
The drink that she ordered when she first came in finally arrives - a vodka martini. She thanks the waiter and takes a long sip, then sighs happily.
"So are you going to tell me your name?" I ask.
"Names are overrated," she says, tilting her head to the side. "They're not so important, don't you agree?"
I make a thorough examination of her hands before I reply. I don't see a wedding ring or indeed any jewelry at all.
Grinning, I play on. "I suppose I do."
"So what do you do when you're not playing mediocre jazz piano and hitting on women who walk into the bar?" She asks with a grin, taking another sip of her martini.
"I run a talent agency," I reply.
"Really?" She asks. I nod, and she gets a wicked grin on her face that almost seems familiar. "Don't you need talent to run a talent agency?"
"Ouch," I pour on the sarcasm, still smiling despite (or perhaps because of) the witty barb she threw my way. "Never heard that one before."
"Hey, they can't all be winners," she says with a shrug.
"You're about as funny a comedian as I am skilled as a pianist." I shoot back.
"Oh ho ho, them's fightin' words, mister," she says with a laugh, setting down her drink. "You want to see which of us is a better puncher?"
"You think so little of me that I'd hit a woman?" I retort. "You wound me, madam."
"I will in a second if you keep it up," she leans on the table, resting her chin on her hand. "Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?"
"Anyone ever tell you that you're a smartass?"
"Lots of people, all the time."
"Oh good, as long as you know."
She smiles at me with half lidded eyes and for a while she just listens to me play. I have to admit I'm rather taken with her, and though in the back of mind something seems rather familiar about her, I can't place it at all. I just play, and for once I actually enjoy it, because she's sitting there watching me.
"So what do you do when you're not coming into bars late at night and bothering the band?" I shoot a smirk over to her.
"Oh, you're the band are you? I thought you were just filling in until they got back."
"I'm officially employed here, yes. How about you?" I am nothing if not persistent.
"You're a nosy one, aren't you?"
"You're the one asking all the questions."
"Am I?" Her tone is doubtful.
"See? Another question." I smile and she pouts a little.
"I don't want to talk about my work," she says, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling. "I'm here to get away from it."
"Not something you enjoy?" I ask knowingly.
"Not particularly." The smile leaves her face for the first time since I saw her, replaced with a rather thoughtful, distant expression. "It's an obligation, a responsibility. It's not what I'd really like to do."
"What's that?"
She turns her head back to me and smiles again. "What makes you think I'd tell you?"
"Well, you've told me so much about yourself already, I figure, what's one more little tidbit?" I grin as my fingers stumble their way through a rather difficult part of the song.
She just stares, regarding me with either respect or amusement, I can't tell which. After a long pause, during which I continue to bumble my way through the worst part of the song, she speaks.
"Law," she says simply. "I'd like a career in law."
An electric current shoots up my spine and I screw up at least three separate chords in rapid succession before regaining my composure. "Really?" I ask, hoping she didn't notice.
"Yes," she answers, "and if you think you're going to get me to be any more specific than that you're off your rocker, old man."
For a moment I just nod, then I realize what she just said. "Old man?" I ask incredulously.
"Sure, what are you, forty?"
"I'm thirty two, thank you very much." I stick my nose into the air and put on an air of offense.
"Oooh, touchy are we?" She says with a grin. "I was just kidding, gramps. Don't have a heart attack on me."
There's another pause as I end the disaster of the previous song and begin a new one, turning the page of the sheet music in front of me. I look over at her and she's still looking at me. It's a little difficult to tell in this light, but I think I see...desire in her eyes.
For a moment I consider my options. There was my apartment, but Trucy was there and I didn't really think that bringing home a woman I met at the bar that night would win me any Parent of the Year awards. There was the office, the back room had a pullout sofa and some spare sheets and pillows in the wardrobe, but that felt wrong somehow. I had too many good memories of watching movies on that bed with Maya and Pearls, and ravishing some random woman who I didn't even know the name of in that same bed was simply out of the question. That left one other option.
"When you said you were here to get away from your work," I ask, "what exactly did you mean by that?"
She blinked, my sudden question breaking her reverie. "Well...exactly what it sounds like."
"What does it sound like?"
"I'm from out of town."
"So you don't have a place to stay?"
"No, I have a hotel room," she says, eyes suddenly narrowing. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason," I reply, smiling happily as I pound on the keys.
"If you think I'm going to invite you over to my place after we've just met, you've got another thing coming, buster." She says sternly, crossing her arms again. I see a small smile forming on her lips. "I am not an easy lay."
"I never said you were," I quickly add.
"I don't even know your name."
"And I don't know yours," I say, turning my head towards her and grinning. "But then, names aren't all that important, don't you agree?"
The hint of a smile on her face grows larger. She stares into my eyes with the same intensity that I had stared into hers earlier tonight.
"When do you get off?" She asks.
I check the clock on the wall. "In half an hour," I reply, "and I'm resisting the urge to make a tasteless joke here, I hope you appreciate it."
She laughs, and it's a positively musical sound that I don't think I could ever get tired of. "I can wait."
The half hour passes quickly, thankfully. I tell Mr. Vasili I'm heading home for the night and he grunts and waves dismissively like he usually does. I ask her to wait outside for a moment, that I have one last thing to take care of, and she does, sashaying out of the bar after paying for her single martini. I quickly pull out my phone and dial home.
"Yyyello?" The voice of a late teenage girl greets jovially as she answers the phone.
"Truce? It's me."
"Oh hey daddy! What's up?" She asks excitedly.
I suddenly feel very guilty for even considering doing this. "Well, Trucy...daddy's not going be able to come home tonight."
"Awww, why?" Her voice is crestfallen.
"Well, uh..." The powerful feeling of guilt begins to intensify even further. I can't lie to her, but at the same time, I didn't want her to think I was ditching her. "Truce...there's this woman..."
There's a long and audible gasp on the other end of the line. "Daddy, did you meet someone?!"
"Well, sort of, yeah..."
"That's great! You want to spend the night with her?!"
I sputter and gibber and manage to get out, "Yes, but-"
"No buts! You tell me all about it tomorrow, okay?!"
I manage to find my voice before she hangs up on me. "Truce, I don't want you to think that I'm abandoning you or anything-"
"Why would I think that?" She asks curiously. "At any rate, you've been with me every day for seven years, dad. I think you're old enough to spend a night away from home. Just promise you'll come home tomorrow and tell me all about her, okay?"
Trucy's unbelievable understanding has thrown me for a loop. I mumble, "okay," and she says goodbye and hangs up. I just stare at my cell phone for a solid minute, trying to comprehend exactly what just happened, and eventually decide to just do as she told me. She was the one in charge, after all.
The guilt is practically gone by the time I step out on the the sidewalk in front of the Borscht Bowl bar and restaurant. She's leaning against a bus stop sign and staring out at the street, rubbing her arms. I walk up behind her and she spins around, dark hair whipping almost over her shoulder. A strange sense of familiarity again, but it's gone before I really notice it.
"You cold?" I ask.
"Do I look cold?" She replies smarmily.
Smiling, I remove my hoodie and hold it up for her. At first she doesn't look like she's going to accept it. "Come on," I say, "It's not like I don't expect it back."
A brief gust of wind removes the last of her doubts and she turns around, slipping her arms into the sleeves as I hold it open for her. Once she's got it on she immediately zips it up and sticks her hands in the pockets.
"It's warm," she says, smiling weakly at me. "Thank you."
"It's nothing," I respond, sticking my own hands in my pants pockets. "Shall we go?"
She leads the way, walking up the street. "It's not far," she says, "I walked to your bar from there."
She looks back at me following her. "You should walk closer to me," she comments, smirking through the night. "People might get the wrong idea, think a hobo was about to mug me."
"Hobo?"
"Sure. Beanie hat, sandals, dirty white tank top. Very hobo-chic."
"It's not that dirty..." I mumble as I speed up, walking alongside her.
She was right. It wasn't far. Maybe four or five blocks from the bar. Fairly high class hotel, too. I probably couldn't afford a room there, at least.
We enter the lobby and the bright lights almost blind me after the subdued lighting in the bar and the moonlit night outside. I follow the blurry outline of her as she leads me to the elevator, taking it up to the top floor. The lighting in the corridor is much less bright, and my eyes are given time to adjust.
"Here we are," she says, pulling out a card key out of a tiny concealed pocket in her dress. She unlocks and opens the door, inviting me inside.
It's a very nice room, by any standard; large living area, big TV, even a little bar with counter and kitchenette. There was a small balcony that had a nice view of the Los Angeles skyline in the distance. The door to the bedroom was open, but I couldn't see beyond it. It was dark in there and only a few table and floor lamps were lit in the living area.
"Make yourself at home," she said as she removed my hoodie and offered it to me. I waved it away (I was warm enough already) and she laid it across the back of the sofa. She sat in the easy chair, kicked off her sandals, and sighed happily.
I actually found myself a little nervous as I sat down on the couch. I tried to look as nonchalant as possible, but I think that actually made me appear more awkward, because she suddenly appeared as nervous as I was.
"You want a drink?" She asks, standing up before I can say anything and striding over to the bar near the door.
"You don't need to do that," I say as she ducks behind it and I realize she's going for the minibar. "The prices in those things are always outrageous."
Her head pops up and she smirks at me. "I have a fairly substantial account already," she says, "so what do you want?"
I figure any arguing is pointless, and hope a drink will calm my nerves. "Grape juice."
She blinks at me.
"What?" I ask defensively.
"Nothing." She says before ducking back behind the bar.
A few moments later her head pops back up. "They don't have grape juice."
I sigh. "Philistines...one of those tiny little bottles of wine, then."
"'Kay," she says and ducks back down again. A few moments later and she emerges from behind the counter, carrying two tiny bottles of cheap wine. She tosses one to me and I catch it, popping it open and taking a sip. It's awful, but I don't say anything.
"Awful," she says, grimacing at the bottle before taking another sip. "You'd think for what they charge they could afford to fill these puny little bottles with decent wine."
I laugh a little and take another sip. It didn't seem so bad the second time around.
We sit in silence for a minute, drinking our terrible wine from our terribly tiny wine bottles, when she breaks the silence.
"So just what does running a talent agency entail?" She asked idly. It seemed she was searching for anything to talk about in place of silence.
I consider the question carefully before answering. "Honestly? I have no clue. We've only got two clients."
She blinks. "Oh. Well, who are they? What talent do they have?"
"The first is me, I play piano. The second is my daughter, she does magic tricks."
Now she just stares at me. I began to wonder if maybe honesty wasn't the best policy in this situation. Then she laughs, and even though I know it's probably at my expense, I still enjoy the sound.
She wipes a tear from her eye. "That's funny."
"It's also the truth," I say, making sure she knows I'm not joking.
"I know," she replies, "that's what makes it funny."
I prop my legs up on the coffee table in front of me. "Well Miss Fancy Pants, what do you do for a living?"
The smile fades quickly. "I told you before, I don't want to talk about it. It's...complicated."
"It might make you feel better if you got some of your troubles off your chest," I prompt gently.
She shakes her head. "I can't tell you. I'm in a fairly sensitive position. Politically, I mean."
I raise an eyebrow at her. "You're not like...a Senator or something, are you?"
She chuckles humorlessly. "No, nothing so easy."
She sighs and leans back in her chair, staring at the ceiling like she had at the bar. She chooses her words carefully and speaks deliberately. "I'm in a position of leadership. But it's not a good one. Theoretically I can tell everyone what to do, but they can make things very difficult for me should I choose to do so. In the end it's easiest for me if I just do what I'm told, even if what I'm told to do is entirely distasteful to me."
I ask the obvious question. "So why do you keep doing it if you don't want to?"
"It's a family thing," she replies, and I swear I can hear a small degree of sorrow in her voice. "I can't just abandon my position. Someone else would have to take over, and she's not ready just yet."
"Well, why not break out of the family mold?" I ask, taking another sip from my tiny wine bottle. "Do like the women in the movies do - screw the traditional order and run off with the guy you love."
I had meant it as a joke, but I quickly realized how badly it sounded. Before I can apologize, I see her gaze become more distant, her eyes wistful as she stares at the ceiling.
"It's not that easy," she says mournfully. "It's never that easy."
There's a long silence as she stares up at the ceiling and I stare down at my little bottle. Then, slowly, she stands and walks over, seating herself next to me on the couch. I gaze at her. She's hunched forward, elbows on her thighs and fiddling with her now empty bottle in her hands. She doesn't look at me.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't be burdening you with all this. I barely know you."
"It's okay. I'm the one who asked, after all."
"I guess..." she pauses for a moment before continuing."I just wanted someone to talk to, you know? Not about my problems or anything, just someone to banter with."
"You must have friends. Don't they like to banter?"
She shakes her head. "Not really. Most of them don't really keep in touch, and the one who does...well, he's not really a 'banter person,' you know what I mean?"
Visions of Edgeworth's scowling face fill my mind and I nod knowingly.
She sets her little bottle on the coffee table and turns towards me. "Thanks," she says with a very genuine smile.
"Thank you," I reply, setting down my own drink and returning her smile. "I think I needed a good banter myself."
Suddenly she embraces me, and for a moment I don't know what to do. Only a moment, though. I hug her back, and when she pulls away she lingers close, her hands on my shoulders and her face close to mine. I look into her eyes and I see that spark again, the one that made me want to get to know her in the first place. I wondered if she saw something similar in my eyes.
Slowly, gradually, she leans in towards me. Subconsciously, I lean towards her. Our lips meet, and it's electric, like the spark is real, not just a light glinting in her eye. She pulls away briefly, her expression unsure, and I sit there and wait patiently, my arms gently resting on her waist.
She takes a deep breath, and mumbles, "What the hell."
And she kisses me again, deeply, passionately. I kiss back, running my hands along her sides and back. She stands and I stand with her, our lips still connected, and she guides me into the darkened bedroom. Once we're inside she slams shut the door with her foot and rips off my hat, briefly running her fingers through my hair. I reach behind her and begin undoing the zipper in back of her dress while she attempts to rip off my shirt. It's a bit of a struggle, but once we get started, we don't stop.
Its hours before we get to sleep.
I wake slowly. The sheets and pillow are soft, and the bed is extremely comfortable. I become dimly aware of the light shining in through my eyelids. I try to shut it out, but to no avail. Gradually, I open my eyes, taking in a little bit of light at a time. Eventually my eyes are open and adjusted to the bright, almost heavenly daylight streaming in through the sheer curtains of the window.
I look to my side and see her there, naked as a jaybird, long black hair tousled and sweaty and everywhere. Her mouth is open and she's snoring softly.
It takes me a while to realize that it's Maya. It takes me longer still to realize that it isn't a dream.
"Oh my God." I crawl backwards out of the bed and fall headfirst onto the floor, swearing loudly. I hear her snort awake.
"Huh? Wha' happa'?" Still on my back and rubbing my head, I see her peek over the edge of the bed, eyes still sleepy and regarding me with a sort of annoyed curiosity. Maybe it's the expression on my face, maybe it's the fact that she can actually see me and my hair in full daylight, but I see the gears turning in her head and I recognize the exact moment when she recognizes me.
"Oh my God." She leaps backwards back into the bed, scrambling to cover herself with the sheets. Slowly I stand up, grabbing a pillow to cover my own nakedness.
For a long time we just stare at each other, not knowing what the hell to make of this situation. My mind was racing. This wasn't a dream; the blow to my head had proven that much. That was most definitely Maya kneeling on the bed. This was certainly the hotel room I remember from last night. So...had we simply not recognized each other? It didn't seem possible, and yet, there we were.
"Maya?" I ask tentatively.
She nods. "Phoenix?" She asks.
I nod back. Maya slumps backwards into a sitting position, dumbstruck. "Did we...I mean..."
"Yeah," I say slowly. "I think we did."
She raises a hand to her cheek and says in a quiet, deadpan tone, "Well I'll be."
Maybe it's what she said or the way she said it, maybe it's the utter ridiculousness of the situation, maybe it's the realization that the fantasy I'd had for years had come true and I hadn't even realized it until the morning after, but I just start laughing. Slowly at first, then louder. I try to cover my face or stifle it and I can't. I laugh harder than I've laughed in years, and gradually I hear Maya start to laugh as well. We both collapse on the bed, clutching our sides or our stomachs, trying vainly to regain our composure. Eventually we tire ourselves out and manage to halt our laughter, taking big gulps of air as we lay on the bed.
"How in the world did this happen?" I ask, a wide smile on my face as I stare at the ceiling of the bedroom. I hear movement and suddenly Maya's face is above mine. She's grinning just as widely as I am.
"It is a mystery," she says brightly.
He just stares at me for a long while, his cold, steely eyes communicating nothing.
"And that's the story of how you two got together again?"
I nod. "Yeah, that's about it."
"And what happened after that?"
"Oh, well, she couldn't stay of course. She had responsibilities back in Kurain and I wasn't going to interfere with her life. But she kept in touch, and took a greater interest in training Pearls to succeed her, and couple years later she was back, and...Well that's where we are now."
I see a brief flicker of amusement on his face before he sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Wright, I saw this movie last night on AMC."
I blink. "What?"
"I mean maybe you should do a little more to disguise your tall tales than just changing the names around. Honestly, if you were this careless in court I'd still have a perfect win record."
"What, you want me to get Maya or Trucy to verify my story?"
"I wouldn't trust them anyway. They are known to go along with a joke after all."
"But it's the truth!" I sputtered.
"Wright, real life is never that poetic. The odds of something like what you just described happening are astronomical." He smirked smugly. "And since you don't have a single shred of evidence to back up your claim, I'm going to have to call bullshit."
I was fuming. I knew he was just screwing with me, but that didn't matter. What mattered was proving him wrong. Suddenly I had the answer.
"No proof, eh?" I say, standing up from my chair and wandering back into my bedroom. I opened up the drawer on my nightstand and pulled out the decisive evidence I needed, then walked back to the living room of my apartment. He was still sitting there, legs crossed and fingers dented, like some kind of cocky Bond villain.
"Take that!" I shout as I slam the evidence down onto the small coffee table. He leans forward and squints at it for a moment before his eyebrows rise and his eyes widen.
It's the little wine bottle from the minibar.
"Do you want me to get hers, as well? It's in her nightstand," I explain, hands on my hips and grinning triumphantly.
Edgeworth leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and pouting. "I stand corrected."