DISCLAIMER:The Facts of Life and its characters are the property of Columbia Pictures Television and Sony Pictures Television, no infringement intended.
Archiving: Only with the permission of the author.
Adult rating: There is sexual content and violence and moderate language.
General Note: I like to take characters out for a stroll in my head and they come out in my head in stories like this one.
Pairing: Blair/Joanna Boots/Joanna Graham/Blair
New characters too so don't get confused.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
For two very different reasons for two very different people the day marked a change. For one it meant a fairytale coming to fruition. For the other a darker notion shaded her path. Weddings in perspective are meant to be monumental that way. Blair Warner, with the means and imagination, placed her adolescent dreams into a day, her day. Jo Polniaczek glimpsed the day in stages from their youth. They started as magazine clips with notes scribbled beside them. They were torn out and placed in a special notebook that no one was ever allowed to see. Out of spite and some curiosity Jo had peeked inside. The book was made up of archived flowers, smells, drapery and a sketch of an expensive dress.
The finished product was inside the chapel, not the steps where Jo stood. She couldn't bring herself to walk inside. Right now she could only imagine a collage of torn paper and hurried scribbling. If she went inside it would ruin Blair's incomplete dream. It was one thing to see the idea in a notebook. It was an entirely different beast to see the dress, the crowd, the kiss.
She stood outside with her hands pushed down in the pockets of her of her grey pant suit. She eyed the oak and the spiral design that made the door look intimidating. The cross looked intimidating, as if placed there specifically for people like her. People that stood where she stood, dueling with their heart and their head like she was now. Jo could burst through the doors and drag Blair out professing that no one would ever love her like she could. And while it was true it was impractical. Joanne was many things, but she could not claim to be impractical.
They had started as all honest romances do with friendship. It transformed into a passionate affair with one thing threatening to tear it all down, a lie. The lie exposed was an obstacle that Blair and Jo needed to overcome. But like all explosions it can never be undone and in default never forgotten.
"Jo?"
In reflex Jo cringed. The voice was the same, but the tone wasn't as obnoxiously grating. She turned dropping down one step as the woman in white approached. Her gait was different and more sedate. Her smile wasn't painfully cheery. Boots St. Clair had always been attractive, but everything else about her stood in the way of Jo enjoying it.
"Boots," she replied dryly in greeting.
Boots tilted her head, but the leaning hat on her head didn't fall. Jo eyed it oddly; fashion was lost on her when it came to hats.
"Fancy meeting you here," she stopped beside the other brunette.
"Well it is my best friend's wedding," Jo stated matter-of-factly.
Boots smirked, "I meant here," she pointed with a gloved finger to the step Jo stood on. She continued, "On these steps you're not inside," the last part sounding like a suspicious accusation.
"Well I uh…," she cleared her throat, "you just caught me heading in."
"Did I?" she asked the side of her mouth drawn up. Jo hadn't been aware, but because of terrible parking, Boots had had her driver to circle the block. Three times she circled. Each time the figure in gray looked more and more contemplative on the chapel steps.
The former cop made it a point to look behind her, "no adoring horde?"
Boots smile darkened. Jo was different. There wasn't a rule she wouldn't break that stood for civility in the heiresses eye. That could possibly be one of the things that made the woman so interesting. Born and bred in a box with fixed ideas and preconceived plans Boots led the life outlined for her and was good at it. If she hadn't she wouldn't be the woman she was today nor could she appreciate her admiration and disdain for her former classmate.
"I gave them the day off. This is Blair's day after all."
"How magnanimous of you," Jo teased.
"Yes it sounds almost grown up doesn't it?" Boots brushed by the other brunette.
Jo turned and headed to the doors. It was more to spite Boots speculative gaze than a desire to bite the bullet. She yanked the door open, "after you."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jo could see why Blair insisted on being married here. The stained glass and the light shining through littered the room with complimentary hues. The pews were full of loving family and friends, and envious onlookers bore carvings of cherubs.
Jo sat in the back. Jo would see Dorothy and Natalie in the bridal party walking down the aisle before the bride. She would watch as they passed. Jo had declined Blair's request to be her maid of honor. It was never healthy to stand too close to the flame. And while Blair's dejected response tugged at her, Jo was a survivor first and foremost. Blair had already ruined her. She didn't intend to be broken completely.
Whispering voices filled the room. The detective wasn't concerned with scattered voices. She was lost in her own thoughts until a certain perfume reminded her of where she was. Blair was close. She was probably standing outside the doors.
For the two hour celebration of doves and wedding music and the traditions that made it a ceremony, Jo suffered. Her friends were beautiful in their peach dresses. The men in their tailored suits looked dashing. It was hard not to get caught up in the glamour of Blair's creation. That is until the dreaded moment came. The room wasn't entirely devoid of sound. Seats cracked under the weight of someone shifting. The sounds of heels brushing the floor and breathing were background sounds, compared to the booming voice of the minister.
The surreal beauty was unquestionable and equally dismaying, at least for a certain guest.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The reception was simple, but elegant. Like the church the lighting set the mood not the wedding trinkets. Blair smiled at her husband leaning against him as they sat their long table. "I'm going to love loving you for the rest of my life," she heard him whisper in her ear.
She leaned her head forward as familiar lips brushed up against her neck. "Is this what you want?"
He chuckled taking his seat beside her, "aren't you supposed to ask that before we take the plunge?"
She shoved him lightly, "don't make it sound like we're jumping off a bridge."
He took a sip of his wine and at the expensive ring he bought her. He didn't think he was ever capable of purchasing something that expensive. Though the former Warner wasn't the type of woman to swoon over the ordinary, he smiled at the absurdity. Graham took her hand bringing it to his lips, "That's exactly what we've done."
They sat like that for a while until the sound of raised voices caught their attention. Blair was willing to accept many things about her new husband. His friends from the police force, save one, were going to be an adjustment.
"I'll do damage control," he volunteered unhappily before his new wife could say anything.
He stood and walked over to a group of rowdy men and a lone woman. "The married man cometh," the words slurred together as a shorter man announced his presence.
"It's not even ten minutes in and you're wasted? Since when do you get blitzed off wine anyway?" he took the glass the man was holding.
Scott frowned at the relinquished drink, "weddings give me the willies. I brought good ole Adelaide along to calm my nerves." He pulled out a silver capped container he had named and took a gulp.
Graham shook his head. "Does upstanding assistant DA mean anything to you guys? Try not to make me look too bad here."
"O, we'll be on our best behavior," Kolfee extended his hand, "care to dance," in an exaggeratedly sophisticated tone. Jo looked at the outstretched limb and a hairier hand accepted the invitation. Graham pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched his former brothers in blue dance.
"Why me?" he groaned as they began to circle he and Jo.
Jo shrugged slightly amused.
"You know this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you."
Jo took a drink, "what?" she frowned as the two began to hum loudly and off key.
He chuckled wearing a similarly pained expression, "today and every day after that I get to spend with her as my wife."
Jo's heart dropped. Graham was her partner until he passed the bar. Though, in the short time that one night and an introduction take, Graham and Blair had become Graham and Blair. She shrugged taking a long sip from her glass. She needed something stronger than wine.
"Thanks Jo," she eyed him and he looked like he wanted to say more. She shrugged and excused herself. He watched her go, but then his eyes moved back to the woman charming the room. This was the happiest day of his life.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jo needed to be able to breathe again. She scoped out exits before at the rehearsal dinner Blair insisted she attend, even though she wasn't in the wedding. The mansion had been in the Warner family for generations. On the second floor she found it. It sat close to the window and with the festivities downstairs no one would know she was missing much less hear her playing.
She sat at the piano. The chords were familiar and the rhythm was soothingly blue. She poured whatever was left in her soul in the notes. This may have been her friend's best day, but this was by far her worst. The happy couple freely gave her the credit she didn't want.
"Nina Simone?" Boots walked through the glass doors. "A bit telling don't you think?"
Jo's hands halted. They hovered over the keys. She thought she was alone. "What?"
"Since I fell for you," the socialite clarified. She made her way over to Jo slowly. She took off her hat placing it on top of the dark piano. Jo reminded her of a cabaret piano player. Though, she hadn't remembered Jo being musically inclined. It was a pleasant surprise.
Jo sat watching her.
"Why are you following me?"
"I'm not," she placed a delicate hand on an equally delicate hip. Jo's eyes followed the innocuous motion. She had just watched her best friend get married. She watched her dance their first dance and tears fell in happiness. Perhaps, only in Jo's head, she could turn out to be the one that could complete her best friend. Was her mind that screwed up to find the time to admire the body of her most disliked classmates from college?
"What do you call it?" the piano player lowered her eyes safely to the keys.
"A breather from suffocating niceties," she answered. "Is it my fault that you and I happened to retreat to the same room?" She ended with a question without desiring an answer.
"Won't your husband be missing you?" Jo vaguely remembered hearing about Boots' marriage.
She shook her head, "wonderfully divorced."
"Sorry to hear that," Jo replied in a hesitant question.
The brunette took a seat beside Jo. She faced the opposite direction. It wasn't the keys that interested her. "It was my first probably won't be my last," she replied flippantly.
"That sounds….lonely," Jo began caressing the keys with her fingers.
"One of the few facts of life school doesn't prepare us for."
Jo eyed the other brunette curiously. "And what's that?"
"Decisions, particularly important ones, have always made me sleepy, perhaps because I know that I will have to make them by instinct, and thinking things out is only what other people tell me I should do."
Jo turned her head to smile. The smile graduated into a chuckle. Her shaking shoulders made the brunette curious.
"As I recall you were quite fond of Lillian Hellman in college," the frowning woman stated.
Jo's chuckled died down. Since when did Boots' perception extend to things that weren't for selfish gain?
"If I were the type to dwell on questions I didn't know the answer to, I would wonder, why you aren't celebrating. This is one of the happiest days of Blair's life. And here you are sitting with me." Jo tried to cut her off, but Boots continued undeterred. "But I suppose there is only so much torture one can endure."
"I see some things haven't changed. Doesn't talking outta your ass get tiring?"
Boots smiled thinly, "no more tiring than hope." Standing and retrieving her hat she placed it back on her head. Before she left the room completely she turned and took in the piano player. Jo met her gaze, but Boots' eyes were hidden under the elongated brim.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Marshall looked at the brunette. People like her kept him in business. Addiction was a cruel seductive thing he had no qualms in feeding. She came to him under the cloak of night. To the untrained eye she was an upstanding woman. No one knew how pivotal his role was to her public image or how good of a liar she was.
"I have some new product. I'm told it'll knock your socks off doll," he recollected the description someone had not too long ago shared.
"Do I look like the type to wear socks?" his eyes veered toward her feet, but he took liberties to travel elsewhere. He doubted she even owned a pair of sneakers.
The heiresses' eyes moved from the glass to the drug dealer. This was their routine. They met, he flirted and pitched, she stuck with what she knew best. She knew what could make her escape, she knew never to overindulge. Witnessing her first and only overdose had kept her away from anything harder than the coke she sniffed on occasion. Heroin had been the drug of choice for her mother. Watching her life spiral into the oblivion of lost time via an insatiable craving was devastating. The difference between them was that her mother had become an addict. This was her recreational getaway from the world.
"The usual, nothing more nothing less," she handed him the bill that guaranteed his undivided attention.
Despite his bravado and pet names reserved for gumshoes of the 1950s his individualism was stripped bare by the thing that all men like him have in common, his lust for money. She was always taught that money made the world go round. Though, she had only considered her small portion of it, never the world outside of parties, weddings, fundraisers, and shopping sprees.
Marshall dropped the package beside her. The box was light blue with a lavender bow. The box was above and beyond what was required of him and if friends who knew him ever found out he wouldn't hear the end of it. No words needed to be exchanged when money changed hands. His time was up and per ritual he saw himself out and off to his next client.
Her driver pulled away without the behest of his mistress. It was his job to anticipate her needs, nights like this he would drop her off home and he would be dismissed for the remainder of the night. It wasn't his place to question how she spent her evenings especially the ones after meeting with Mr. Parent.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Marshall watched the car drive away before his rolled up next to him. Usually there was no need for cloak and dagger meetings, but he felt more like a drug dealer when he did. Up to no good at ungodly hours reminded him he was alive. If he lived to be as old as his father he wanted more to reminisce about in old age than mergers and company business. There was more to life and while he didn't need the money greed made his side ventures necessary.
His business was small. A few word of mouth clients that called him during his business hours to get a hold of something only he could provide. It fed into his need to be needed. He'd gone through most of his life invisible. Perhaps not in the sense that most people walk through life unnoticed since his money gave him an advantage. He wanted to be seen as a lone entity not an extension of his father or his heritage.
Leaning against the window he stared. He didn't pay attention to the night or the droplets of a light rain that had lasted an hour or so. He saw Boots St. Clair. Clients like Boots were a joy to do business with. Eye candy as his beck and call and it all started with an itch.
The brunette was a goddess. A lost treasure brought back to him in the wake of divorce. Drugs had never truly interested him until he found out the object of his affections owned a vice. It hadn't started with her, he felt that a bit too obvious. One friend and then another referred him to another until one day he was sent into her limo giving her a taste. Cocaine was a luxury item at least the grade that he used.
"One day," the day was coming soon he knew. He'd been patient. He'd been charming. And then he would have what he wanted and Boots would give it eagerly.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The amazing honeymoon in Blair's head had to be forfeited for the time and energy spent on the wedding. Graham and Blair had too many responsibilities to leave the country as she would have liked. Graham had just accepted his position at the district attorneys' office and Blair had committed to a specific account at her father's firm. Instead they settled for three days in a cottage in the Hamptons, it was quaint and quiet, far away from the real world.
If someone had told her she would fall for someone like Graham Blair would have been wary. While life had sobered her to the fairytale of happily ever after, success was an attractive quality that she wouldn't compromise on. She was still her father's daughter. She was ambitious and thrived on being in like minded company. Graham had filled a void that no man before him. The best of both worlds at the risk of being cliché fit like a glove.
Now they were in the center of their four post bed. Bodies were tangled and sheets covered them, but it was still hard to discern which belonged to whom. Lazy fingers took their time across the length of soft silky skin. The leg it bothered moved and Graham smiled at the response.
"Babe?" he whispered in her ear, she moaned in response uninterested in the effort of forming words. He was happy. Pin pointing one moment in life to memorize would have to be today. If hadn't been a certain ornery Bronx native's partner he never would have met her. It wasn't as if they moved in the same circles. Before Blair the finer things in life were lost to him, but he didn't mind the education if it meant she would be in his company.
He'd been born in a similar neighborhood as Jo. Where blood and sweat shaped survival. The more he worked to get out the harder he bled and perspired. Now he had a wife. A woman that loved him beyond his own understanding and he wasn't questioning her sanity even though he knew his friends were. He would take her as crazy as long as it meant that she was his.
He kissed the back of her head smelling the scent of her shampoo, "what are you thinking about?" It was incredible had well she smelled all the time. She moaned again provoking an endearing smile. It was ok if she slept. They had the rest of the lives together to be awake to enjoy each other. "I love you. I don't think I'm ever gonna get tired of telling you that."
She rolled over slowly, "good, cause I'll expect that type of ego stroking regularly."
"Your sounding more like a litigator than my wife," he admired her hooded gaze. His hand lifted up to caress the side of her cheek.
"Litigator, trend setter, doting lover, you're stuck with them all," she responded unashamed.
His groan was mocking, but her eyes widened a little more to the day. Then just as quickly he transformed, "is there a naughty librarian in there somewhere too?" he growled.
She began giggling as his tongue tickled her neck. "Maybe, but we have the rest of our lives to find out." It felt strange to say even with the ring on her hand. The remnants of the ceremony still in her head and the pictures were still hard to reconcile with the constants that existed before marriage.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"I hate this," Jo pulled at her collar. They were all expected to wear full uniform for the evening. Blair's wedding had only been one of two ceremonies she had made promises to attend.
Scott shrugged, "the view is nice," he eyed the woman headed in their direction. They had been inside for the duration of a drink with small talk. After face time with their captain, Jo and her team, snuck out one after the other finding each other outside to determine where to go next.
Kolfee and Jo followed his gaze. These official dinners were the few occasions were the classes met in one room. The donations for that evening would hopefully procure more safe friendly materials the budget couldn't supply. Donations made wealthier members of the city appear giving. It made all the sense in the world for her to attend. Boots was all about looking good. Jo conceded she was succeeding. What was with this woman and her entrances?
"Detective Polniaczek," Boots greeted. Climbing the stairs shouldn't look primal. Jo, fully aware of the former, wondered why her body was reacting to Boots ascent. It was as if she'd never seen a beautiful woman climb stairs before.
"Boots," she smiled. Everyone was given 'the talk' about decorum the day before. She'd been on her best behavior since the start of the evening. Boots St. Clair had the potential to ruin that.
"We really should stop meeting like this," she greeted on the step.
Kolfee and Scott turned simultaneously both curious and envious. She met their stare then turned back to the faultlessly dressed woman.
"Let me guess I'm just catching you heading inside?" she teased.
Scott jumped in. "Actually we were just leaving. I read it's good to hydrate after inordinate amounts of ass kissing."
"That sounds like sage advice," she smiled. If anyone were paying close attention to Scott they could see his chest rise, a bit more erect than before.
Jo shook her head, "she's not interested."
"You know the last person, who thought they could speak for me, pays me enough alimony to buy a gold platted license plate with the inscription; 'MMTGOD'."
Jo smirked, "do I even want to know what that stands for?"
"It's obnoxious and ostentatious so probably not," she delivered.
Boots looked at the trio. The tell tale signs of unbuttoned jackets, warned that wherever they were heading next would be completely opposite of the night she intended. She imagined Jo had looked quite civilized in the beginning of the evening. Police galas were few and far in between ceremonies she frequented. They always needed funded and it was good for cops to feel appreciated by the community. She picked and chose her functions and how much publicity she would receive. Tonight she came with the explicit purpose to leave by the side of one NYPD's finest.
"Lovely meeting you gentlemen, Jo," she made her way toward the door not entirely enthused about attending now.
Scott called out after her, "why are you going in there?"
"Scott," Jo drew out his name in warning.
He ignored her, "Come with us, you'll have more fun."
Boots turned to his companions. Kolfee didn't look too invested in her coming or going. She could smell the need rolling off Scott in waves. Jo's nonresponsive was even more intriguing.
"When he starts any sentence with 'I read' it's safe to bet that anything after is bull," Jo warned. Surprised and pleased the socialite accepted Scott's invitation.
Scott looked back and then walked up to the pride and joy. He unlocked the door to his black 1969 ss Camaro. "ln," Scott coaxed his team brusquely before sweetening his smile for the newcomer. Boots decided that a leotard on a bull would be a better fit than sweet on Scott. She settled into the leather. Scott revved his engine for show missing the roll of eyes in the backseat. Boots indulged him by voicing how impressive his car was.
Hogalvee sanctuary to boozing, beaten down patrons held it's doors open at all hours for NYPD's finest. It was owned by a retiree and on most evening's war stories were swapped over beer and stale peanuts, beer being the operative lure. They walked in garnering curious gazes, or rather the lady in the sparkling lavender dress did.
Hog smirked, "you grunts have never looked better," he greeted. The retiree had immersed himself in every barkeep stereotype; as if to solidify he could be something other than a cop. He took Boots by her hand to deliver a kiss, "just in case those uniforms have gone to their head, it's only cause of their company."
Scott glared. "Don't mind this rolling stone. He hasn't realized his lines stopped working since Mary Magdalene discovered Jesus."
Hogalvee chuckled, "They worked well enough for your mother." If only it had been like most 'your mama' jokes, made from a realm of untruth.
Jo's shoulders shook and Kolfee dropped his head as snickering erupted. The only one unaffected was Boots, who observed each reaction. The two, unoccupied with laughter, were brawling. Scott had jumped across the table and tackled the older man. They took turns throwing each other into walls and chairs.
"I thought this was a cop bar," Boots directed to the amused companions. Kolfee wiped tears from his eyes.
"It is," Jo managed through laughter.
Boots looked around. Everyone saw the carnage, but no one moved to do anything more than watch. "Isn't anyone going to do something?" She cringed when the bar owners hand connected with the younger man's knee cap.
"Nah…this is how they work out there problems," Kolfee supplied. He frowned as a chair broke under their combined weights when Scott reached to catch himself and Hog charged.
Jo took Boots' hand leading her to a table away from the mess. "I take it he's very sensitive about his mother."
"Only when his father mentions her," Jo supplied claiming a pitcher of beer forgotten by a scattering waitress. It was common knowledge that at least one fight would erupt when father and son were in the same room. Verbal sparring evolved to fists connecting with flesh. Both men were too much alike to come to a solution.
"They fight. We watch. Kolfee pays up," she leaned back contently. The last man standing walked to the duo. He settled in his seat while his son sat leaning against the wall glaring. He wiped at his bloody lip.
"Would you be offended if I said that this place fits you?"
Jo lowered her glass, "that depends, is it the snob speaking?"
"No…not tonight."
Jo smirked, "then no."