Note: Only the first 2 chapters of this installment were ever posted on this website previously. So this is new material unless you've accessed it through my homepage since the story was pulled on 4/13. Chapters 3 and 4 have now been edited to comply with the rules of this website.(Originally FS 63-71)
Feasibility Study
Written by: Ms Maggs / Edited by: KJT
"In the Bluff – Part 1"
August 19, 2005 (Day 119)
San Marino, California
The Sanders Home
9:15 p.m. Friday
Bev had been home from Vegas for several hours, but due to a dental emergency her husband was treating, she hadn't seen or spoken to him yet. The delay was fine with Bev, however, because it gave her time to decompress and plan her strategy.
In the sunken tub in her luxurious bathroom, Bev enjoyed the fragrant Jasmine bubbles popping around her while sipping from her glass of crisp Santa Margherita Pinot Grigio. But the delightful wine and relaxing bath weren't what was soothing her the most. No, it was the memories of a wonderful visit with her son and the woman she was certain would eventually be his fiancée…hopefully before she looked like she swallowed a bowling ball.
Bev's confidence was based not only on her ability to read her son's mind, but also the fact that Tawny shared Greg's written list of fantasies with her yesterday. A little voice whispered inside her head…be honest, you know shared is a bit of an exaggeration. It was true, she confessed to her guilty conscience. While Tawny was napping I went snooping and stumbled upon it BUT it was the teacher in me that had me open Tawny's Algebra notebook…I wanted to check her work…okay, that's not exactly true either, I wanted to verify she really did have a brain as impressive as her boobs.
Never one to dwell on the unchangeable, Bev reconciled it didn't matter how she acquired the information it was wonderful news just the same.
"Bev?" Scott called out as he entered their bedroom suite.
"I'm in the tub!" She hollered back before polishing off her wine. "How did it go?"
"Welcome home, Honey." Bending down he slipped his hand behind her neck and warmed her lips with a kiss. "I missed you." Smiling from the exchange, he stood up untucking his navy polo shirt from his khakis and releasing a blissful sigh.
"I missed you too," She sweetly replied, always a little amazed how much his kiss could still do to her after thirty-five years of marriage. "Now tell me how it went."
"Baseball to the mouth. It was nasty. Two reimplantations with splinting." He tossed the shirt then ran his fingers through his meticulously groomed short brown hair. "But Charlie will be fine…thanks to my amazing skill."
"I've always admired your humility, Dear," She quipped while kicking back in the tub. "And how was Katie?" Katie Dwyer, wife of Dr. Michael Dwyer, top PlasticSurgeon in town and big spenders at the country club. She was Hollywood-obsessed and always gushing over her jock son, Charlie's movie-star good looks. He was a twenty-six year old med student at UCLA who had earned his Bachelor's on a full tennis scholarship and every time he showed up at the club he had a different buxom blonde on his arm.
Chucking the last of his clothes, Scott replied, "Katie was hysterical but, after assuring her Charlie would still be a babe-magnet worthy of the hottest Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, I managed to calm her down."
"I bet," She guffawed. "You know the woman adores you because she thinks you look like Dennis Quaid." In actuality he looked like Dennis Quaid's slightly older but more handsome brother, not that she'd pump her husband's already enormous self-confidence by telling him. Splashing the water she snickered, "So…I see you've tossed your clothes. Are you thinking about going for a swim?" She could tell from his heavy tan lines that he had spent a plethora of time on the golf course in her absence.
It had been a while since Bev was away from home and now that she was back, Scott was looking forward to a little quality time. "You want to come out to the pool with me or were you thinking of me joining you in there?"
"I'm not going anywhere and, since I have a lot of new information about your son, I think you'll stay." She slid to the far side and waited for him to take his usual spot across from her.
"I suppose we can't avoid this any longer." Bracing himself for the final confirmation of his son's homosexuality, he asked, "First uh…where's the bottle of wine that was filling your glass earlier?"
"In the mini fridge." She forced her lips not to smile as her husband opened a cabinet door and grabbed the Pinot Grigio. "There's an extra glass on the counter…I had a feeling you'd want some. Fill mine too, please."
"That doesn't bode well." One glass was the norm, two glasses meant she was trying to relax, if you got to three there was definitely something going on. "How many have you had?"
"Two." Really she only had one but she new he'd be more tense if he thought she was going on her third.
With the bottle in hand he stepped into the tub, immersing himself and reaching for her glass. "Okay, just give it to me straight up." Then he realized the irony of the statement. "I've had a couple of weeks to deal with it since you told me you were 99 percent sure that Greg was getting serious with a guy." When she broke the news after one of her usual Monday calls with their son, she said it was the only explanation she could think of for Greg's erratic secretive mood. "It's not what I wanted for my son but if he's happy…"
Bev calmly sipped her wine while her husband waxed on.
"…and it's not the lifestyle. You know Chuck is a good friend of mine and I've been golfing with him and his partner for years. It's…I know how much you wanted grandbabies one day…a granddaughter in particular. And as much as I harp on Greg for not being responsible enough sometimes, I always envisioned him eventually settling down one day and starting a family…bringing his kids over and watching you spoil them rotten was something I looked forward to enjoying."
The irony of his statement almost cracked her straight face as she thought…you're going to get your wish granted sooner than you'd like.
Pausing, Scott gulped down half the golden contents of his glass. "Okay…I'm ready to mourn the dream. Give me the scoop. The good stuff first. There is good stuff right?"
"They're living together." And let the game begin, she inwardly chuckled. Yes, the plan was working as perfectly as she thought when she first outlined it to Greg weeks earlier. "I spent a lot of time over there with them."
"Living together already? That's fast. Well, I guess we really don't know how long it's been going on so…" He took another gulp. "At Greg's place?"
"Yes."
"I guess his partner doesn't earn much of a living either or they wouldn't be living in that tiny place." He sank a little further in the tub. He at least hoped the guy was a successful professional who could positively influence his wacky son.
"Greg's significant other is in the midst of a career change so…"
"No job!" Scott reached for the bottle while he polished off his glass. "My god, if Greg is the responsible one in the scenario, now I'm concerned. I can accept Greg is gay, but I'm having a hard time accepting he's the mature one of the duo." Grasping for straws, Scott hesitantly inquired, "Not to sound shallow but, what about looks? Do they uh…look good together?"
"A total hottie…huge chest," She declared with enthusiasm. "Ooozes sexuality and always turns an eye in public for being so…I guess you could say…pretty."
"So that makes Greg what? Is he the guy in the relationship or the…" The wine glass was at his mouth again.
"Greg definitely wears the pants." The ruse was a tad cruel but, she was enjoying it immensely.
The picture was a little more than Scott was ready to handle. An unemployed muscle-bound pretty-boy who Greg bossed around. "What about personality? Sense of humor? Because you know even though I always tell our son he has to be more serious about certain things, I'd hate for him to ever lose his charm…which we both know he gets from you."
"An utterly hilarious character at times!" Bev cracked a smile since they were talking about humor. "Gives Greg as much shit as I do."
"Well…that's something. And you're sure it's serious?" He asked, hoping there might be a chance Greg could still bat for the opposite team in the future.
"I heard them exchange I love yous," Bev wistfully replied.
"Oh." A little overwhelmed, Scott asked, "Is there anything else I should know?"
"One thing." Sliding around to sit at her husband's side, she looked him in the eye and said, "I was wrong about Greg's love interest being a guy. Her name is Tawny Ann Cooper, she's twenty-two, stunning, smart and charming. She's his dream girl. They're crazy about each other and I'm nuts about her too."
"What?" He gawked at his wife. "So you went there and instead of confirming your suspicions that Greg was gay, you found out he was acting weird because he met his dream girl? Why would he be secretive about that?"
She grinned, congratulating herself for a job well done. "He was afraid you would be upset to find out they decided to live together after only knowing each other a month…he thought you'd think it was a flighty thing to do. So he was trying to put off telling us until they were together longer."
In comparison to living with a guy and not producing grandkids in the distant future, living with a girl after only knowing her a month suddenly didn't seem like that bad of a situation. "Wait a minute." Still playing catch up he chided, "So this whole time we've been talking you let me think…" Her smirk was annoying him to no end. "You were bluffing!"
"Hey, I just came from Vegas…a town where bluffing rules."
"And now you're back in California…an ocean state, where people drown all the time." With that he playfully dunked his wife under the bubbles and while she was under, he launched a sigh of relief.
"My boy finally got a girl." When Bev emerged, her hair sopping with bubbles, Scott excitedly asked, "So…where did she go to college? Where did they meet? What about her family? Is she a responsible girl? Someone who will help Greg settle down, perhaps? Twenty-two is a little young but…that's probably a good thing for Greg because she won't want to settle down and have kids for years, which will give him plenty of time to get his act together and save up for a house. Hey…how are her teeth?"
Bev fielded the easy one. "A naturally perfect set of chompers. Brushes three times a day and flosses nightly."
"Fantastic! Sounds like a very responsible girl to me," He relaxed against the marble, thrilled his dream for a future Sanders generation was back on. "Now answer the rest of my questions. I want to know everything about her. Damn, now I'm kicking myself for not going to Vegas with you! Did you invite her to come out for Labor Day? I mean if they're living together, he plans on bringing her, right?"
"Yes, indeed." Her grin intensified when she saw the happiness returning to her husband's eyes.
"Excellent! Wow…Greg must be thrilled with the idea of having girl on his arm for the club festivities. Funny timing because if he came without someone this year, newly divorced Becca would have been available. I bet he would have been tripping all over himself again around her. Well, maybe now she'll realize she should have given our boy a shot. Sanders men mate for life…isn't that right, Honey?"
"That's right." She melodically replied before teasing, "It's the Hojem women who fool around."
"I remember that well from before we were married." Scott relaxed further into the bubbles. "I'm dying to meet the girl who finally gave my boy a chance. She must be a really sweet to put up with some of his quirks."
"She's so sweet her favorite food is Krispy Kreme donuts…and your son was so crazy about her, when they first met, he bought them for her every day for two weeks."
"What?" The horror on his face reflected his shock. "Greg should have known better than that! And the girl...doesn't she know what they do to your teeth? What other bad habits does she have?"
"Honey…" Bev, not ready for the next round of questions and subsequent deflections, snuggled up to her man. "I know you said you missed me but, did I tell you how much I missed you while I was away? Wait…maybe I should show you." And in a stealthy effort to shut down her husband's curious mind she began distracting him.
"Is this another bluff?" If he had waited a second longer he wouldn't have had to ask. "Okay, we'll talk later."
Las Vegas Crime Lab
Grissom's Office
11:04 p.m.
Sitting at his desk on his last night as Graveyard Supervisor, Gil couldn't help but feel a little misty. From that first shocking day when Jim informed him he'd be taking over the team he fell in love with the job…except for the paperwork…and the departmental meetings…and the red tape.
While he was looking forward to his new position and the prestige it would bring, Gil knew a part of him would miss the old routine. But he knew it was time to let the next generation take over. At 49, he was in the midst of what the Psychologist, Erikson, defined as a stage of Generativity vs. Stagnation…a period of a time when a man wants to reach out and help the next generation by being productive both professionally and personally. A smile found his lips as he realized he was doing both simultaneously for the first time in his life.
As Gil readied to say goodbye and move on to bigger and better things, he took comfort in the fact that he had done well in his supervisory role. And he was relieved that the Graveyard shift's solid reputation would remain intact in the competent hands of Warrick Brown, as Sara used to call him…his favorite CSI. Back then she was right but now it was too hard to choose.
Reclining in his chair he felt a paternal rush. His three 'boys' were all grown up…
Warrick was the first born…the independent one. Against heavy odds, he managed to face his demons and emerge stronger for it. So strong, it was almost impossible to believe that six years ago he was supposed to fire him. Instead Gil went with his gut and kept him around, believing in him and supporting him with a quiet reserve under which Warrick rapidly redeemed himself. And now, just as it was always supposed to be, the eldest son would step in and assume his father's role.
Even though Gil was extremely proud of his successor's job performance, it wasn't the thing for which he was most proud. No, it was what Warrick was doing personally that made Gil smile brightest. This year, he brought peace to Catherine's often tumultuous life and gave Lindsay the one thing she's needed most, a stable father-figure. At thirty-six, Warrick had it all going for him and Gil felt confident that his long-time 'favored son' would continue to make him proud.
Next was Nick, the middle child…the dependable one. He was doing a wonderful job supervising the day shift and Gil had no doubt that Mr. Stokes would one day ascend into the major role for which Jim Brass was grooming him. Unlike the eldest son and the father, Nick didn't hide his passion for the people his life touched. Be it his co-workers, the victims or their families, Nick didn't apologize for making it personal and it was a quality Gil often admired without acknowledging. It was the thing that set him apart and would take him far.
Thirty-five yesterday, Nick was right where Erikson would agree he should be…having developed a strong sense of identity, he was ready for commitment and as luck would have it, the right girl showed up at the right time. Well…Gil took a little credit for it because if it weren't for the Blake case, the soul mates might have never met and that would have been a shame for, as Catherine had taught him to say, they were clearly each other's lobsters.
And then there was Greg, the baby of the bunch…the quirky one. When he turned thirty in May, Gil had hoped the boy would miraculously become a man, but much to his disappointment, it didn't magically happen with the blowing out of candles in the break room. It ended up being a slightly slower process…the first step happening two months later on Dales Trail with the pull of a trigger. From that moment, the boy was in flux and while he teetered on the brink of maturity, he reverted and did something grossly irresponsible.
Gil, like any father, couldn't deny his initial disappointment at the youngster's error in judgment. But in the weeks since, he was privy to a beautiful thing…before his eyes he watched his littlest one grow up into an exemplary man. And one night, in the back yard of a grisly crime scene, the father even found himself leaning on and learning from the son. It was in that moment, that Gil realized he had a new favored son and while he'd never admit it, he fully intended to make sure this one grew to the level of greatness he suddenly saw him capable of attaining.
Warrick was ready for full-fledged independence, Nick had been stolen by Jim to, years from now, be his replacement and therefore, Greg would become Gil's protégé and, in the time after his retirement, and before Sean Blake was ready to take over in thirty years…he hoped Greg might be a worthy of a turn as Master Criminalist.
With the three pseudo-sons out of the proverbial nest and taking flight, there was only one thing left for Gil to do…fill the vacancy with one of his own. Staring at his wife's photo, he had the overwhelming urge to call home. A few seconds later, he heard his wife's voice.
"1-800-HOTgirls. What would…"
"Stop…" He instructed. "I'm calling because in an uncharacteristic display of emotion prompted by a deep analysis of Erickson's theory of generativity, triggered by pondering the significance of my 49th birthday two days ago and this impending career change, I want to say…I really hope I got you pregnant during our bad-sex marathon this month because, I'm ready to be a father. And now that I've said it out loud with such conviction, I'm feeling a little panicky so let's not talk about it."
"It figures you would feel this way now." Her words were followed by a labored sigh. "Really bad timing."
"Why?"
"Because I was just sitting here thinking I changed my mind."
Leaping out of his chair, he gasped. "What!"
"Bluffing!" She giggled uncontrollably. "I was actually lying in bed writing out potential names like the baby-obsessed dork that I am."
Clutching his head, he took his seat. "Promise me you won't do that again."
"Sorry…I'm feeling a little mischievous tonight."
"Then sneak some chicken and feed your craving." He chuckled into the phone. "So…about these names you're writing. Wanna share?"
"You know them well."
"Hmm…"
"Wanna hint?"
"Yes." Leaning over he grabbed a pen so he could write them down.
"They're frabjous names," She said with flair.
The connection was immediate. "Do you mean my great grandparents names from the book?"
"Erin and Owen. What do you think?"
"You'll laugh." He tapped the pen on the desk since he no longer had to write them to test them out. "I thought the same thing when I read the inscription."
"Well…that's about the easiest and quickest personal decision the two of us have EVER made. Five years to agree on dating and four seconds to name our future child."
Pleased with the progress, he remarked, "Like fine wine, our relationship is improving with age."
"So are you, Baby…in…every…way."
Just as he was about to launch a witty retort, Trey and Nina came flying into his office vigorously arguing. "Uh…personnel issue…gotta go." Hanging up the phone he jumped up. "What the hell is going on?"
Trey pointed at his co-worker. "She's out of line!"
"No! He's out of line." Nina faced Grissom and hissed. "He came on to me in the layout room. Apparently the bloody tarp wasn't the only thing he wants to lay around here! It's sexual harassment and I want his ass fired five minutes ago!"
"She's lying!" Trey fought back. "She's the one who unzipped her jumpsuit so I could see she wasn't wearing anything underneath." He looked to Grissom for empathy. "What guy isn't going to sneak a peek when the goods are on display? I mean you married your employee, right? Surely you played sneak-a-peak in the layout room."
Before Grissom could defensively reply to the absolutely truthful accusation, Catherine flew into his office. "This is NOT going to work!" Hands on her hips she snarled. "I thought since I'm the dominant one in the bedroom I could deal with him being the boss at work but…no can do. I can't work for Warrick."
Relieved he packed his migraine medication in his kit, Grissom massaged his temples. "Could you all please just stop screaming for a minute and…"
"Gris!" Warrick stormed into the office. "I think we have a problem."
"You think!" Grissom glanced around at all the angry faces. "What's your problem?"
"Sofia just kicked Hodges in the nuts and he's threatening assault charges."
Warrick's statement was the first thing to make sense to Grissom so far. "What…" Then he caught a glint in Catherine's eye. "You're making all this up, aren't you? Some kind of warped goodbye, right?"
Catherine took a seat on the edge of the desk. "Little slow on the uptake for a genius but yeah. Must be that extra 49th year bogging you down." She cackled. "Let's hope it's the only area of your life that's been impacted."
Warrick turned to Trey and Nina. "Thanks for playin'. Catherine and I will take it from here."
Catherine feigned a shiver while whispering to her friend, "I'm really starting to like Warrick in the authoritative role. I may even have to try the submissive thing in the bedroom."
Holding up his hand, Gil pleaded, "Too much information."
Once Trey and Nina were gone, Warrick approached Grissom's desk. "Since Cath and I are the only ones still around from the original crew, and we both know she has a problem with authority, it's up to me to say…you've been a great boss, Gris." Then he added a personal wish. "I only hope I can fill your shoes."
Although she tried in earnest not to chuckle, Catherine broke down and said, "Baby…with feet your size…" When he shot her a look she fell silent.
"Hey…I'll be damned." Gil looked to Warrick with amazement. "You actually got her to shut up. I've been trying to do that for six years. If you can accomplish that miracle, I feel quite confident you'll handle the rest of the job just fine."
Before Catherine could toss in her two cents, Gil's pager sounded and she quipped, "Saved by the dead."
After reading the message, Gil looked up. "What do you say the three of us handle this one together for old time's sake?"
"Lead the way…Boss," Catherine announced while winking at Warrick. "Don't think for a minute I'm ever calling you that."
"No problem, Baby." Whispering in her ear he casually said, "Sir will be fine."
Gil grabbed his keys. "This is going to be a long night."
August 20, 2005 (Day 120)
Boca Raton, Florida
Ron Grissom's House
8:23 a.m. EST
After attending an all-day Board meeting yesterday, Ron was anxious to leave Atlanta at the crack of dawn and return to his home. So, using the corporate jet, he flew out first thing this morning. Of course, the only reason he was anxious to return was so he could pack and leave again…this time hopefully with a little more baggage.
As the limo pulled up the circular drive, Angelina Maria Cruz Valera, the live-in head housekeeper and chef, opened the double doors of the entrance and anxiously awaited Ron's arrival. Angelina, a Cuban refugee who arrived in Miami twenty-five years ago was, at fifty-seven, still a strikingly beautiful and curvaceous woman. For the last six years, Angelina was in charge of the house, a job she took after her husband, Juan, her teenage sweetheart turned husband, was killed on a construction job leaving her destitute.
At first the job was hell, but with no living relatives and nowhere to go she dug deep and didn't quit. It was a horrible time, which she referred to as El Reinado de la Puta Flaca…The Reign of the Skinny Whore…the whore being, Mrs. Tiffany Grissom, a thirty-three year old unnatural blonde, former runway model. La Puta Flaca had the dubious honor of being the nastiest person Angelina ever met…and she had met Fidel Castro twice.
During La Puta Flaca's reign, Angelina often wondered how a woman who subsisted on grapes and water could have the energy to be such a raging bitch twenty four hours a day. It baffled her that Ron, an intelligent and powerful man, put up with her antics. She was certain he didn't do it for the sex, although she knew they had it often because of the cat-like screeching noises La Puta Flaca would make. She often wondered how good the sex could be with a woman whose ass-bones stuck out further than her breasts, because real woman have curves, not sharp angles.
After surviving two years, something wonderful happened…thanks to cracking open Ron's head with a vase and violating a clause in the airtight pre-nup agreement, La Puta Flaca was told to pack her teeny tiny clothes in her big designer suitcases and hit the road. Then a new phase began…Los Anos Tragicos…The Tragic Years. Two years of gluttony at its worst. Ron drank and ate decadently while women came and went, none thankfully as nasty as La Puta Flaca…then again how could they be nasty to him when he was paying them?
Finally, a little over two years ago, it all caught up with her employer and she found him keeled over on the patio, in the throes of a massive heart attack. The doctors told her he wouldn't make it. She knew otherwise.
Angelina knew that Ron wasn't ready to die because he had unfinished business with his estranged son…the son who painted the pictures in the box tucked up on the high shelf in one of the unused bedrooms in the west wing.
As she predicted, her employer survived surgery and returned to his estate to recuperate. It was during this time, which she referred to as a time of Paz y Comodidad…Peace and Comfort, that Ron finally showed his human side to Angelina. It was when she first heard the names Jillian and Gil and learned of the mysterious bug-loving boy who drew the beautiful mariposa pictures in the secret box.
For the last two years it was just Ron and Angelina, or Lina as he called her, rattling around in the big house at night. Staff members came and went throughout the day…a maid, a gardener, a pool boy, but at night it was just the two of them…each lonely and longing for something they lost.
The second he stepped out of the limo, Ron excitedly shouted, "Lina! My boy wants me back!" He purposely hadn't told her over the phone so he could see her reaction. "I'm a dad again!"
"I told you!" She shrieked while charging down the seven marble stairs to the drive. "How did he react when you gave him the box?" When Ron asked her to have it Fed Ex'd last week she almost jumped out of her skin from excitement.
"Reserved as predicted, but Sara…she loved it." He gushed with excitement. "I'm sure Gil will get around to it at his own pace. Thank you…I wouldn't have been able to do any of this without you. You've…"
The driver came around with Ron's bags and Angelina, annoyed by the interruption, quickly directed, "Leave them in the entryway."
"Here's the deal…" Ron didn't want to waste any time since the issue was weighing heavy on his mind. "Thinking optimistically that I'll have a reason to spend a decent amount of time in Vegas, I have my agent looking at some real estate there. I know it's a lot to ask but…would you mind coming with me and helping me out there?" The thought of living without her as his trusted right hand for any length of time unnerved him. Among other things, she was solely responsible for his healthy recovery after his triple bypass and she was the catalyst for getting his ass on a plane to Vegas after Gil's accident. These last two years he had come to rely on her for so many things but most of all, happiness.
"You want me to move to Vegas for you?" Taking no time to ponder the offer she answered, "I'm sorry. I can't."
"Oh…" He nodded, trying to mask his disappointment. "I understand, you've lived in Florida for decades and it would be difficult to…"
"I'm just yanking your chain, Guero," She replied while copping her famous Cubana attitude that she knew he loved. "As if you'd be able to live without me for an extended period of time…I'm surprised you made it two weeks without having a nervous breakdown."
Following her and enjoying her salsa dancer's swagger, he announced, "Why the hell did you think I called every few days?"
She wanted to say, because you're in love with me, but you're too scared to admit it however, she simply replied, "Tell me…how did you manage to tie your shoes without me around?" She started up the stairs to the front door.
"I wore slip ons."
"Ahh…he always has an answer."
"Hey, I spawned a genius so, I can't be that stupid."
"You married La Puta Flaca," She reminded him as they hit the top step. "Not too smart."
Proudly he replied, "Yeah, but she didn't get a dime of my money when I kicked her flaca ass out the door, now did she? So I'm not that dumb."
"Did you tell your son how much you're worth?"
"Nope." Glancing around at the six million dollar home he was entering Ron said, "It's not something that would impress him." Mocking himself, he laughed. "It sure as hell impressed La Puta Flaca though, didn't it?"
"And this is something to brag about, Guero? Maybe you should run your fingers through your hair and feel that scar again." Placing a hand on his shoulder, she scolded, "Your son…he's a wise man not to be tempted by wealth." She couldn't wait to meet the mysterious bug boy.
"He can't be that wise, he's taking a chance on me." He saw that familiar look in Angelina's eyes. Was it pity? Empathy? Something more? One thing was for sure, it was confusing and always left him, a normally articulate and verbose man, a little flustered. "Um…"
"Um, what? For a man who got rich talking, sometimes you don't do it very well." She tossed her hands in the air and headed for the master suite. "Nevermind. I'll start packing for Vegas. How long are we staying?"
"Who said anything about coming back?" He saw her startled expression. "With any luck I'll be a grandpa in nine months and that kid is going to need to learn a few things my son can't teach him."
The statement drove Angelina to belly-shaking laughter. "If it's a boy, I hope you're not planning on teaching him about women because what you don't know about women could supply enough power to light up all those fancy casinos in Vegas."
Greg's Apartment
6:01 a.m.
In bed in a sleepy stupor, Tawny felt for the ringing phone on the nightstand. "Hello?" She answered in throaty voice.
"Is this Tawny?" Scott Sanders cheerily inquired.
"Yes." Rolling on her back she blinked her eyes open.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
Groggily she replied, "Who is this?"
"Greg's dad."
As if she just stuck a wet finger in an electrical socket, Tawny jumped five feet out of bed from the shock. "Uh…yes, this is Tawny." Had Bev's plan worked? Was Greg's dad so happy to find out his son was hetero that he couldn't possibly be mad about their whirlwind relationship and almost immediate shacking up or had her plan failed and Mr.Sanders was calling to scream?
"Tawny!" Scott enthusiastically greeted. "I'm so happy to talk to you. Bev told me everything about you."
"She did!" Rushing toward the bathroom where she heard the shower running, she panicked. "Everything?"
"She told me you brush three times a day and floss nightly."
"I do!" She confirmed while throwing open the bathroom door. "Um…I'll get Greg for you." Throwing open the curtain, she pointed to the phone while mouthing, oh my god!
Although he couldn't see her because of the lather from volumizing shampoo in his eyes, Greg knew his lover was standing in front of him jumping up and down. Feeling frisky and having a little extra time before heading to the lab to pick up Grissom for Anger Management he exclaimed, "You know I'm always up for a little wet hot lovin', Baby. Come on in and we'll play your favorite game, is that a bar of soap or are you just happy to see me, Greggy." Unfortunately he exclaimed it loud enough for his father to hear.
Covering the receiver a little too late, Tawny heatedly whispered, "Your dad is on the phone!"
"Are you shittin' me?" His friskiness instantly a memory, Greg grabbed a towel, wiped his face and then cinched it around his waist before taking the phone. "Dad!" He feigned a cheery tone. "I swear I counted to 100 when I brushed earlier."
"Excellent…but that wasn't why I called."
"Oh…" He glanced over at Tawny who was standing in the hall chomping on her fist.
"I called about the donuts, Gregory. Your mother told me how you brought donuts to Tawny every day for two weeks and I can't express how much it sickened me to hear about it."
Clutching his hair with his free hand he couldn't believe his mother told the donut story to his father. What else did she say he panicked? They had a plan! How could she sell me out!
Groaning, Scott informed his wayward son, "You know how much sugar Krispy Kremes have and what they can do to your teeth. Why are you encouraging such bad habits with your girlfriend?" Then he started to laugh.
As his heart rate began to slow, Greg asked, "Did mom tell you to call me with this?"
"Yes, she said you'd find it hilarious. But you're not laughing so maybe it's one of your mother's jokes that only she gets …you know the ones."
"Yeah." He slid down the wall while shaking his head. "So…um…are you disappointed that I asked Tawny to move in with me so fast?"
"I absolutely think it's too fast, yes." Then Scott lowered his voice to a whisper. "But if she loves to play is that a bar of soap or are you just happy to see me Greggy? I can certainly comprehend why you'd want her to live with you. Just remember what I've been telling you since you were sixteen, son…practice safe sex. And because I realize I didn't mention this in one of our many sexual responsibility talks I'll say it now…girls can get pregnant in the shower. Soapy water is not an effective prophylactic." He chuckled at his own joke. "Okay, that was me cracking jokes and you're not laughing either. Seriously though…the last thing you need on your pitiful salary at this early juncture in your career is a baby on the way. You and Tawny barely know each other. I understand it's exciting to be in love for the first time but try to take this slow…don't be impetuous like you can be some times. And whatever you do, do not…I repeat…do NOT get drunk and run off to a chapel and marry this girl. Your mother will kill you if she doesn't get a real wedding from you one day years from now when you're financially ready for a commitment. So play in the shower all you want but don't make rash decisions that you can't stand by for the rest of your life. Understand?"
"Right, Dad." He gulped. "Totally understand. Yep…got it."
"Great." Scott exhaled into the phone. "Now, your mother told me a little about Tawny, but then she fell asleep. I guess she needed extra rest because she had something going on early this morning. She was gone before I woke up. So I want you to tell me all about Tawny."
"Okay. Well she…DAMN!" Greg lied, "Sorry, my boss is paging me. I'd love to talk but, I wouldn't want to be irresponsible and not report in."
"Of course not. Hey, Greg…with your skills, you could be making three times the cash for any major corporation…but you're following your heart and I admire you for it because your job is tough and most people wouldn't want it. I know I haven't told you in a while but…I'm really proud of you, son."
Staring at the ceiling, Greg tried to deal with the comment that under normal circumstances he'd be thrilled to hear. "Thanks, Dad."
When he hung up, Greg thought…I think it's time for that father-son 'yes, I got her pregnant' role play I mentioned to Grissom last week.
"How bad was it, Greggy?" Tawny nervously asked as she took a seat on the floor next to her man.
"He's looking forward to our trip out to California," He replied, choosing to focus on the positive. "Only two weeks to go…"
She sighed. Going to California was one of the last goals on the 2005 Fantasy list and the sooner those were done she figured Greg would start working on the future edition. "Two weeks seems like forever."
Greg's retort remained in his head. That's funny, because it seems way too fast for me. Regrouping, he told his concerned significant other, "My mom obviously sang your praises because my dad is very excited to meet you. He's happy I've found someone, and much to my surprise, he also told me he was proud of my work."
"That's great!" She enthused while slipping her hand in his.
Sadly he admitted, "Yeah…everything is perfect. Now I have to ruin it by telling him I got you pregnant." Greg turned his gaze to Tawny. "He made it pretty clear that it's the wrong time for me to start supporting a family…I'm at the bottom of the CSI pay scale, I'm just starting my field career and I can't buy a house. That's the perfect 'don't get a girl pregnant' trinity for my dad."
Staring into his eyes, Tawny whispered, "Don't tell him until after the paternity test. Because if you tell him before and it's not yours then he won't know you were irresponsible. And if the baby's not yours then…" That's when she realized it would be even harder to tell his dad. If his dad thought it was a bad a idea for Greg to make sacrifices to take care of his own offspring, what were the odds that Daddy would approve of him stepping in to take care of someone else's? On the contrary, Mr. Sanders would probably fight tooth and nail to get Greg to sever all ties with her…a trashy girl who would no doubt be a disgrace to the family. It was so cliché and yet she knew it could happen. After all, her own biologically related parent told her to hit the road. "If it's not your baby then maybe I should…" The words got caught in her throat.
"What's going on in your head?" Greg asked, clearly seeing Tawny was getting upset.
Panicked by the thought of being forced out of Greg's life and scared to death of the remaining options, she replied in a quiver, "I don't want your relationship with your father…if the baby isn't yours then maybe the best thing would be for me to do…you said it yourself, everything would be perfect if there was no baby."
"And let me live the rest of my life knowing you terminated your pregnancy to make life easier for me? No way in hell!" Shaking his head he adamantly opposed the plan. "You never wanted that option before so you're not going to do it now because things are rocky for me. I know my limits. I won't be able to deal with that kind of baggage. It would doom our relationship because we'd never look at each other the same. Don't ever bring it up again." Pulling her close, he soothed, "Try not to worry. It's my baby. I'll handle my father. This thing with my dad, it isn't something for you to worry about. It doesn't impact what you and I have. Okay?"
"Okay." Closing her eyes she considered the one option she hadn't verbalized. The one that would keep her in Greg's life, prevent him from feeling guilty and save him from his father's wrath. After the paternity test, if god forbid the baby wasn't Greg's, she could tell him she had a miscarriage and do the procedure on the sly. But like Greg said, how does one deal with that kind of baggage, especially when you already love the baby growing inside? It wasn't something to think about now she quickly decided. It wasn't even going to be necessary because the baby would be Greg's...it's ninety-nine percent in his favor she reminded herself.
"Feel better?" Greg sweetly asked, while still feeling down himself.
"Yes," She assured him through a fake smile. "I love you so much, Greg."
"Don't worry…" Gently he kissed her lips. "…I'll do whatever it takes to protect you."
As they shared the tender moment, she answered him in her mind…and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you.
Nick and Carrie's Apartment
6:17 a.m.
As Nick, with briefcase in hand, was on his way out the door to work, Carrie grabbed his arm. "Wait…sorry…do you have like five minutes?"
After checking his watch he smiled. "I can spare fifteen." He chuckled deviously. "What do you have in mind?"
Bubbling with excitement she replied, "Selecting wedding music!"
He groaned, "That's exactly what I was hopin' you'd say."
Rushing over to the CD player, Carrie explained. "Okay, this first choice, is a band called Affinity. They have multiple singers and a really nice four piece horn section. They're wonderful, I'm just not sure they have the right sound considering…well, you listen to them for a minute."
Nick stood listening to the song and when it was over, he remarked, "I think they sound great…classy, obviously experienced. I'd have to see their play list to be sure."
Smiling, Carrie held up the next CD. Okay, here's the second choice…now we both know how much you automatically like the second choice, but try to stay objective."
Once she had the CD loaded Nick dropped his briefcase and playfully grabbed her. "You're never going to let that second choice thing go, are you, Roxie?" Much to her pleasure, he had been teasing her with the nickname ever since they tossed the leather corset in the trash at the hotel. Instead of being her sexual alter-ego, they had decided that it would be the name he called her when she was too over-zealous in her anal retentive planning and organizing or when she was giving him shit.
She shook with laughter as he tickled her, which he had deemed would always be the appropriate torture for getting her to lighten up after invoking the Roxie name. "Back off, Tex!" Tex was the nickname she had chosen for him after confirming her fiancé was a certified straight-shooter type of guy. "Seriously, Nicky! You have to go to work and I need an answer here."
"Okay, okay." Relenting, he took a few steps back. "Hit it."
Composing herself she announced, "This second choice I selected because I think it will appeal more to your family. You know…since they live in the south." Pressing play, she smirked, "They're called The Billy Trilly Hillbilly Band." The look on Nick's face as he listened to the painfully twangy sound of the amateur washboard band was priceless. "So…what do you think?"
With out pause, he calmly said, "I like the second choice."
"What!" She was floored. The whole purpose of the charade was to tease, which obviously he was now doing. "You're kidding."
"No, I'm not." Walking over he turned up the volume. "I'm lovin' this. Thanks for thinking of my family, Honey." Grinning from ear to ear he started hoopin' and hollerin'. "Oh yeah…this is going to be perfect! My Grandpa Bubba had his own hillbilly band back in the day. It will mean a lot to my mom to hear this music at our wedding…it will be like having Grandpa Bubba with us in spirit. "
Shocked that he actually liked it she stammered, "Uh…you really think…"
"Hell yeah!" Grabbing her hand he twirled her. "Maybe this should be our song."
"What? NO!" Pulling away she hurried to the stereo and shut off the music. "This choice was supposed to be a joke! I was fooling around!"
"Oh." He got serious. "So we're back to you giving me non-existent choices again, huh? Great! Just great! I'm starting to think there shouldn't even be a wedding."
"No…I mean…oh god…I can't believe…this is why I shouldn't play practical jokes because I stink at…"
"Bluffing!" Nick burst out laughing. "You do stink! However, I don't and that means you're going to lose BIG at poker tonight. BIG!" Grabbing his briefcase he headed for the door. Once there he turned around and announced. "For the record…I love the first choice….and I love you."
"And just for the record, Tex." Carrie postured confidently. "I'm wiping the floor with your ass tonight at poker! And…I love you too."