A/N (from 2004): Parody (noun) 1: a literary or musical work in which the style of an author or work is closely imitated for comic effect or in ridicule
2: a feeble or ridiculous imitation
Caricature (noun) 1: exaggeration by means of often ludicrous distortion of parts or characteristics
2: a representation especially in literature or art that has the qualities of caricature
3: a distortion so gross as to seem like caricature
(From Merriam Webster)

WARNING!! The story you are about to read is a parody (see above). The character of Catherine Willows is meant to be a caricature (see above) of the one we see on CSI (which, by the way, I do not own). Based on the title, you may safely assume (heh) that this story (from which I am making no profit, in case you were wondering) will paint Cath in a negative light, and that ultimately she will suffer the backlash she supposedly feared in Season 4 (not that you'd know it considering she cashed that check from Sam Braun, but that's another story). Believe it or not, I don't dislike Ms. Willows. I'm just tired of watching her get away with murder (okay, maybe it was involuntary manslaughter—thanks, Mich!)…and evidence tampering, and negligence, and destruction of property, and general bitchiness, and, well, you get the drift. In case you haven't figured it out yet, if you think Catherine Willows is the greatest thing since sliced bread and can do no wrong, you will probably not find the humor in this story, so you might want to stop reading now!

Credit for this idea must go to the Playing with Fire chatters who not only made the suggestion for Cath to be on one of "those" talk shows, but allowed me to run with it. Sorry this has taken so long to come to fruition, guys. Special thanks go to ShannonSto and MichStJame for supplying inspirational nicknames, to Maddy for providing some elusive lines, and to Raff for inspiring the ending. And extra special thanks to my betas, Alison and Manigault.

A/N 2 (from 2008): OK, so most of this story was written several years ago, during Season 4. Yes, it's AU, as pretty much none of what's happened since then is reflected in the story (except for the GSR of course!). And I'll repeat, all these years later, that I don't hate the character of Catherine Willows, but it's just so darn much fun to give her some comeuppance.

While Grissom and Sara make an appearance or two in this story (and they are a couple, naturally), this is not a GSR fic. I do have one of those in the works, also mostly written several years ago, and eventually I'll get that one done as well.

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"Dammit Lindsey, I said 'no.' You need to spend your time studying for the GED; not worrying about what you think I should be wearing." Catherine Willows-Bezich hung up the phone and, closing her eyes, sat back in her chair with a sigh.

"Everything okay?" Grissom asked from the doorway.

The graveyard shift supervisor opened her eyes and took a few moments to study the man who had once been her boss. He had somehow managed to look younger every year since giving up the administrative position after Sara gave birth to their first child. Family life must really agree with him. Wish I could say the same. "Yeah. Just a minor battle with Lindsey. She wants us to go on The Jackie Jackson Show. Heaven help you when your kids get to be 18, Gil; it's Hell."

"Who's Jackie Jackson?"

She knew she shouldn't have been surprised, but couldn't stop herself from shaking her head in wonder. "She's the host of one of those over-the-top talk shows. Tapes right here in Vegas, as a matter of fact." At his blank look, she offered more information, "You know, specializes in topics like 'Who's Your Daddy?' and 'I was a Stripper in My Past Life, but Holy Cow--Look at Me Now!'"

Grissom simply raised his eyebrows in a seemingly amused response. Catherine soon realized why—she could have been a guest on both of those shows.

He was afraid to ask, but figured Sara would be upset if he only got half the story. I wonder if she's ever heard of this Jackson woman. "What's the topic of the show Lindsey wants you to be on?"

"Mother-daughter makeovers. She thinks I dress too 'young' and would love to have the opportunity to pick a new wardrobe for me."

Grissom hoped he'd hidden his shocked expression in time. Finally! Someone has the guts to talk to her about her clothes.

Misreading his look, Catherine pressed ahead, "I know! Can you believe it? If Linds is lucky enough to have a body like this when she's my age, you can bet she'll want to show it off too." Lowering her voice a bit, she added, "But you know, it might be worth it, since I'd get to make her over too. She's into that grungy-Goth look now." She shook her head and gave a shudder that clearly said 'What did I ever do to get a kid like that?'

"Well, I'm sure you'll work it out." Anxious now to end this conversation, he took a step in and handed her a folder. "Here's the paperwork on the Montgomery case. Got anything new for me?"

"No. It's been a slow night in Vegas—must be the heat."

"Good, let's keep it that way for the rest of shift. Sara and I have to get home on time in the morning; school starts tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, I forgot it's that time of year." Getting Lindsey up for school is no longer something I need to worry about since she was kicked out. "Is Emma excited about being a second grader?"

"I've lost track of how many times she's packed and re-packed her book bag already. Plus she's been getting a real kick out of scaring poor Andrew about what to expect for his first day of kindergarten."

Grissom virtually beamed whenever he spoke of his children. Ha! That bloom will fade as soon as they hit adolescence, Catherine thought smugly.

"Hard to believe there was once a time when Lindsey liked school, too," she shrugged. "Take my advice, Gil, and treasure the moments when your kids actually listen to what you say and do as you ask. It won't last forever."

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm sure it's easier since there's both Sara and me. You and Eddie were already separated by the time Lindsey was Emma's age."

"And he was dead by the time she was nine. You have no idea how idea how difficult it was for me, raising her by myself."

Catherine could have sworn she caught the tail-end of an eye roll before he commented, "And then you met Chris."

"Mmm," was all she could say as thoughts of the early days with Chris Bezich flooded her mind. The man was a stallion in bed; and as well-endowed as he was, it was a blessing that he understood it wasn't the size of the ship but the motion of the ocean that made a woman happy. Their marriage may not have been as strong as it once was, but the sex remained incredible, so who could complain?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Grissom's voice, but she missed what he had said. "I'm sorry. What?"

"I asked what you wanted me to work on now."

"Oh. Umm, Nicky's working on a DB that came out on one of the baggage carousels at McCarran. He could probably use some help."

"Sure. I'll see you later, then."

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As soon as Catherine turned off the ignition, she could hear the sounds blaring from her house. When she touched the front door to unlock it, she could feel the beat of what her daughter called music. It instantly triggered an answering throb in her own head.

Crossing the threshold into the cool interior, she took a moment to steel herself against the scene that was sure to unfold in the next few minutes. As she glanced around what she could see of the house, Catherine observed an undoubtedly empty bag of chips on the coffee table in the living room and a sink full of dishes in the kitchen. I told her to make sure she cleaned all that up before I got home today, dammit.

Stalking to her daughter's bedroom, she stopped at the door. The "music" was practically deafening. She was grateful that it was almost ten in the morning and most of her neighbors would not be home now. There was no way Lindsey would be able to hear her if she simply knocked, so she pounded on the barrier with her fist. "Lindsey! Lower that stereo and open this door right now!"

She counted silently to ten before trying again. "Lindsey Catherine Willows! NOW!" Her hand was getting sore from its assault against the hard wood.

Midway through her third tirade, the door burst open and the music stopped simultaneously. At that point, any of the neighbors who were home likely heard Catherine ranting that she would allow no daughter of hers to treat her this way. The criminalist scowled at her offspring, a good three inches taller than her mother. "You did that on purpose."

Lindsey flashed an insincere smile and drawled in a syrupy sweet voice, "Did what?"

"You know what." Catherine barged into the room and looked for a place to sit. The bed was unmade and still had last week's clean laundry in various piles on it. The dirty clothes were only identifiable as such because they were in mounds scattered about the floor. The desk, chair, and every available space were littered with magazines, candles, and other detritus of adolescence gone awry. A butterfly chair was occupied by the entirely incongruous collection of stuffed animals and dolls—the only proof Catherine had that this was indeed her child and not some alien pod person sent to Earth for the sole purpose of driving her insane.

Finding no place to rest her weary feet, Catherine leaned against the dresser, careful not to get her sleeve dusty. Incense was burning…somewhere, and was probably covering olfactory evidence of some misdeed. The investigator in her inhaled deeply in an attempt to identify it. Sex? Drugs? We've already got the rock 'n roll. Another breath cleared those thoughts; she really didn't have the energy to deal with them right now. Putting on her own false cheer, Catherine asked, "So what have you been up to lately?"

Lindsey, having by now tossed herself back onto her bed, shrugged. "Nothing."

"That's for sure. Didn't I ask you to clean up after yourself in the kitchen and the living room?"

Up and down went the shoulders again. "Forgot."

"How could you forget? It's not like you've got anything else to do now that you can't go back to school."

Taking it as a rhetorical question, Lindsey didn't answer.

"In that case, you can do it now."

"Can't," came the simple reply.

"Why not?"

"Goin' out."

"Where?"

Only one shoulder moved this time, "Dunno."

Huffing out a breath in frustration, Catherine tried to change tacks. In a calm, motherly voice, she offered, "Look Linds, why don't you do the dishes and we'll talk about the Jackie Jackson thing."

"Really? You'll do it?" Lindsey was at full attention, sitting up on her knees now.

Ha! Thought you could fool me with that apathetic act? I've been playing games since before you were born kiddo; you've met your match in me. The girl hadn't looked that happy about anything in a long time, though. Maybe she should give in, just this once. "You promise you won't dress me in anything your grandmother would wear?"

"I swear, Mom."

Catherine narrowed her eyes, gauging the intentions of her daughter. She seemed sincere. Years of dealing with the best liars in the world prepared me well for motherhood. Smiling now, she warned, "You know, there's no guarantee we'd even be picked."

"I'm feeling lucky." Lindsey approached her mother and put her arm around her shoulder, ready to be her friend again if that's what it took to get the old bat on the show. And she knew just the last button to push. She whispered conspiratorially, "Besides, how could they not choose us? We're gorgeous!"

You do take after me, don't you? Catherine laughed and winked, "Like mother, like daughter."

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Catherine found herself washing the dishes a half hour later, after having straightened up in the living room. Lindsey was so excited at the prospect of getting on Jackie Jackson's show that she really did forget to clean up before she ran out of the house to tell her friends.

She saw his reflection in the kitchen window before he crept up behind her and snaked his hands under her shirt, then around to her breasts. "Hey, Wildcat" he hissed in her ear before nipping at it.

"Hey yourself, Lover." Shutting off the water, she leaned back into Chris and reached her still wet hands up to grab his hair. It had the added benefit of giving him better access to her breasts. "You're home late." She used her best "do me" voice while she tried to sound nonchalant.

You think you can hide the whiny and insecure tone of your voice if you do the 'breathy' thing babe? I've known you too long. "There were some problems with the books that I was trying to work out."

"Oh? Anything wrong?" She had borrowed the money for Chris's own club from Sam Braun. It was embarrassing, to say the least, and would be even more so if the business failed, just as his last three ventures using Sam's money had. Not for the first time since finding out the casino owner was her father, Catherine wished he would just die so she could finally inherit his millions. As it was, Sam only gave her money when she asked for it—and that was just a pain in the ass. What am I, twelve, that I need to ask my daddy for money?

One of Chris's hands wandered down to the button on her slacks. "With a beautiful woman in my arms, what could be wrong?" He did not want to have this conversation with her just yet. Not until she was more…compliant, at least. And if there was anything he knew about his Cat, it was that good sex would make her as accommodating as he needed her to be.

They mated like animals at the kitchen sink, Catherine grasping the edges of the counter as she kept watch for passers-by at the window directly in front of her. Anyone nearing the house would be able to see them, and his motions behind her and their combined grunting would leave no doubt as to what they were doing. Catherine secretly loved it when someone spied them. It made her feel even sexier, and she could barely keep herself from shouting, "Look at me! Look at my perfect body and my perfect man who can't keep his hands off me!" Shifting her focus, she could also see her own and Chris's reflections in the glass, which added endlessly to her arousal.

Making their way to the bedroom to get some sleep, Catherine mentioned Lindsey's hope of getting them on The Jackie Jackson Show. "So what do you think? Seriously. I mean, I know it's kind of silly, but what I wouldn't give to see her dressed in some more flattering clothes."

"I think it'll be an experience you'll never forget."

"Yeah, I do too." They turned the bed down and climbed in. Chris was on his back, Catherine on her side facing him. "So how'd things go at WildCat's last night? What's the matter with the books?" A quiver ran through her belly every time the name of her husband's nightclub was mentioned. The fact that he'd christened it with his nickname for her never ceased to thrill her.

Got to play this right. A sigh of frustration escaped Chris's mouth. "I have to admit, I feel like an idiot telling you this."

"Why? What's wrong? Baby, you can tell me anything, you know that."

"I know, but…" He took a deep breath. "I made a major miscalculation, and now if I don't come up with some serious cash in the next few days, I might have to shut the club down."

"Can't you take out a loan or something?"

"No bank would lend to me; we haven't shown a profit yet."

"Well there has to be something you can do!"

"The only thing I can think of is to…No. Forget about it. I'll figure something else out."

"What? What were you going to say?"

"It doesn't matter. It's too much to ask."

"Chris, you're my husband. There's no such thing as 'too much.'"

He closed his eyes, trying to look pathetic, and whispered, "I was thinking maybe you could ask Sam for the money."

"Oh." She knew Chris wouldn't have asked if there has been any other option. "How much?"

"Fifty grand."

"Fifty thousand dollars! Chris, what the hell--" She stopped herself short. She didn't want to say anything to emasculate him; he clearly felt horrible already. She turned away from him to rest on her back. Finding no answers on the ceiling, she closed her eyes and said, "Let me think about this for a while." She really didn't want to have to go to Sam again, but Catherine couldn't stand the thought of seeing her name in lights be extinguished, even if it was neon.

Sensing she was on the fence, Chris made his best play. Shifting to his side, he gently tugged down the covers and began to lightly trace Catherine's areola. Her body responded immediately, puckering the skin and causing her nipple to stand at attention. Moving his hand to her other breast, he applied his lips to her shoulder and worked down toward the peak that was now missing his touch. He'd heard her intake of breath at first contact, but waited until her breathing was shallow to whisper, "Don't worry yourself about this, Wildcat. If this one doesn't work out, I can always use your face in the next one."

Now this was interesting. "What are you talking about?"

"Didn't I tell you I that once I was in the black, I wanted to commission an artist to incorporate your likeness into the décor of the place?"

She turned her head to look at him. Is he playing me? "No, you didn't."

"I've kept the thought in the back of my head since the beginning. I had actually hoped to surprise you with it one day."

She could see the truth in his eyes; and she prided herself a woman who could spot a lie a mile away. He really was such a sweetheart. And who was she to deny him his dream? "I'll call Sam tonight."

TBC….