The inspiration for this story: "BLUE DRESS" by Depeche Mode (Violator Album, 1990)
Angel With the Blue Dress On
Bobby had been haunted for weeks by the image of Alex. Not that that was anything new to his state of mind, but this particular image he could not shake. It all started innocently enough; he saw the Kodak envelope on her desk one evening while working late and his curiosity, as always, overtook him. He didn't think Alex would mind. She always shared pictures of her nephew with him. Breaking the monotony of his paperwork and taking a look at her photos would provide a welcome interruption.
He began thumbing through the pictures...nephew sleeping; nephew in high chair eating Cheerios; nephew on a swing at the playground...EAMES! Bobby did a double-take to make sure it was really her in the photo. There she was: Eames, looking absolutely gorgeous, feminine, beautiful in a blue dress. Bobby's memory had been jogged. He thought to himself: "This must be the infamous dress...the one she had finally settled on after days of shopping for something to wear to her cousin's wedding last month." Bobby had pretended to be listening, only half paying attention when Eames had complained about her unsuccessful shopping trips; how nothing fit; how her feet hurt. Shopping for that dress had been torture for Alex; and ever since Bobby had seen the photo, it had been torture of a different kind for him, as well. He had to fight hard to suppress the urge to take that photo from the stack, finally convincing himself NOT to with the rationalization that when a woman looks that good in a photo, she'd be sure to notice it missing –and Alex, being no dummy, would have a good idea of its fate.
Bobby had committed every detail of Alex in that photo to his memory; her hair, her eyes, her smile and her figure (showing no evidence of the weight she had gained during her pregnancy); Alex, his Alex, in the damn blue dress.
As haunted as Bobby was by that photo, he was equally haunted by the memory of an old song; a track he never paid much attention to whenever he played that particular CD. Even his own memory sometimes amazed him – – it must be almost 15 years since he'd played that CD. Now, (of course, unknown to Alex), it had become "their song." It's lyrics were imbedded in Bobby's mind, along with the image of his Alex.
One night. Bobby purposely stayed late at work, hoping that after Alex left, he could go through her desk and find that envelope again. He decided that he could at least make a photocopy of the photo, or maybe remove the negative and have a copy made for himself, but his search was fruitless. She must have taken the envelope home, or perhaps mailed the pictures to a relative. He was disappointed he hadn't acted on his impulses the first time he saw the photo of her; now all he had of it was his memory.
When a reminder bulletin about the upcoming Charity Ball was passed around the squad room, Bobby tried to act nonchalant when Alex grouchily protested about having to attend another formal function and buy a new outfit. Bobby had playfully joked with her, telling her that he didn't want to hear, again, about her unsuccessful shopping expedition and sore feet.
He questioned her, trying to make light of her dilemma: "Why don't you just wear the same thing? I know you women wouldn't be caught dead wearing the same thing twice, but I don't think anybody from your cousin's wedding is going to be at the Ball, will they?"
Alex nodded. It seemed, at least, that she might consider Bobby's suggestion. That raised his hopes and, simultaneously, made him feel like a rat– it was a totally self-serving "power of suggestion" that Bobby had just used on his partner. He hoped it worked.
Bobby and Alex were exhausted. They had been working tirelessly for the past several weeks on a case, finally arresting their suspect the day before, (Thursday) and spending all of Friday on the obligatory paperwork which seemed endless. On any other Friday night, they might have shared an "unwinding" drink down the corner at Carucci's, then retreated to their respective apartments for a good night's sleep and a relaxing weekend. This particular Friday night brought yet another obligation of their work: attending the Mayor's Annual Charity Ball for the city's fallen Officers and Firemen. Not going was not an option.
Bobby made it home by 5:30; plenty of time to shower and change into his tux and pick Alex up at 7:30. He grabbed a Coke from the fridge and, as had become his nightly habit, turned on his CD player – his finger automatically pressing the "next" button until he got to track No. 8. He sat on the couch, his head tilted back, resting on a pillow, as he conjured up the image of Alex in that blue dress in his mind's eye and the romantic, yearning melody filled his ears:
(Blue Dress)
Put it on, and don't say a word
Put it on, the one that I prefer
Put it on, and stand before my eyes
Put it on, please don't question why
Can you believe
Something so simple
Something so trivial
Makes me a happy man
Can't you understand
Say you believe
Just how easy
It is to please me
Because when you learn
You'll know what makes the world turn
Put it on, I can feel so much
Put it on, I don't need to touch
Put it on, here before my eyes
Put it on, because you realize
And you believe
Something so worthless
Serves a purpose
It makes me a happy man
Can't you understand
Say you believe
Just how easy
It is to please me
Because when you learn
You'll know what makes the world turn
Having hit the "replay" button three times, Bobby had used up his buffer of leisure time. He sprang into action, showering and dressing – – making sure to splash his jaw line with the cologne that Alex had given him for Christmas – – sure that she would be pleased when she recognized the scent.
The drive to her apartment was pure torment for Bobby, who was hoping with all his might that he would be greeted by a vision in blue when Alex opened her door – and worrying that he wouldn't be able to hide the look of disappointment in his eyes if she were wearing anything but.
Bobby stood outside her door; he inhaled and exhaled deeply, steeling himself for either the elation or disappointment that was about to come – – wanting neither emotion to be detectible by Alex. He knocked, counted off the seconds and the door swung open. He couldn't contain his smile or the quickening of his pulse.
Alex smiled, "You should be too tired to look that happy, I know I am!"
Bobby entered the doorway, still taking in the vision before him. "Y-you look b-beautiful," he stammered. Alex down-played his compliment: "Oh, this old thing," she joked.
Grabbing her evening bag, she and Bobby headed for the door. "You look pretty good yourself," she teased him; "smell good, too!" she said with a wink.
Bobby could barely contain his excitement; tired or not, he was looking forward to this evening – the hours he'd spend in Alex's company, talking with her, the opportunity to hold her while they danced – – just to spend the night looking at her in that dress.
The evening was flying by much too fast for Bobby's liking. There were the usual speeches, the dinner, dancing, catching up with old acquaintances. Bobby and Alex exchanged a laugh as they both noticed Deakins and Carver over at the bar in the back corner "politic-ing."
Bobby, however, wasn't quite so amused when, upon his return from the men's room, he found Alex and Stabler dancing to a slow tune. Bobby's initial, childish reaction was to seek out Benson in the crowd and "return the favor" to Stabler, but he decided the direct approach would be more fun.
"Mind if I cut in?" he asked, while tapping Elliott's shoulder. Stabler gave Bobby a friendly but knowing smile– one that seemed to be saying "I know I got under your skin" but quickly relinquished Alex's hand from his palm. Bobby took Alex's hand in his and placed his other on her back, where the deep "V" of her dress met her warm, soft skin. He was reveling in the touch. Their steps effortlessly picked up the rhythm of the music.
"Comfortable partners." Bobby enjoyed the thought and the feeling.
Alex, who would normally have had a smart comment for the obvious stunt Bobby had just pulled, for even more obvious reason, held her tongue. She rather enjoyed the feeling of being "claimed" by her partner and was secretly happy he had the nerve to do it.
Half an hour, or so, had passed. Bobby had been keeping his eye on Alex from across the room. The evening was winding down a little and the men and women had divided into groups, as somehow always happens at parties. When Bobby noticed Alex approaching him, his heart sank. He tried to hide his disappointment as he thought to himself, "she's coming to tell me she's tired and wants to go home."
Bobby turned towards Alex as she reached him. He smiled slightly, (she loved the way his little eyebrows always raised when he asked a question); "You ready to go?"
"No, I just came over here to get you." She answered, smiling. "The event photographer is over there; you wanna' get our picture taken?"
Bobby's heart almost leapt from his chest at the opportunity. "Sure!"
Alex was surprised by Bobby's enthusiasm; it was a little "over the top," even for him; it was only a picture, for Gosh sake.
Bobby couldn't believe his luck. He'd finally have a picture; he and Alex together...she in that blue dress that'd been driving him to distraction for weeks. He didn't know why, but the thought of having a picture of them together comforted Bobby; the thought of them being "captured" in a photograph; together; partners. It, somehow, made his dream of their "togetherness" more real.
They posed before the photographer, assuming a close stance, arms around each other's waists, turned slightly towards one another.
The photographer didn't have to tell them to smile.
END.