My, this one is coming along fast. Thank you for the reviews, expecially you, Beth. I was worried about creating a totally new character for my BJ universe. I only wish there were more than 13 shows to work with.
Going to the Chapel
Chapter 2
"I found it, on the internet I found it. You will be so be-yoo-ti-ful."
Karen held the receiver away from her ear until the pain subsided. "Momma, can't you begin a call with hello anymore?"
"I'm just so excited," the Brooklyn in her voice got heavier the faster she spoke. "Your fadder will wear a tuxedo and you'll have dis off de shoulder white sheath, very plain but in satin and a veil dat starts at de top of ya head and sweeps down to da flore."
"Mom, calm down. This is not turning into my big, fat Puerto Rican wedding. I found a dress today."
"Wha," the silence that came over the phone went on for a long time, "without me?"
Karen knew her mother's tactics in the battle of parent versus child. First Momma's voice would get very soft and precise, sounded almost as English as her immigrant father's. Then her lip would tremble and moisture would collect along her eyelids… not tears but certainly not stoicism. "Mom, it's going to be an empire waist, tea length dress. Icicle blue that's so light it's almost white and the lace has silver threads through it. It's gorgeous."
"And where, darling, did you find this gorgeous gown?" Connie Betancourt said in her best Queen Mother voice.
Time to lay it on thick, "Christie Dunbar's magazine is doing an article on real brides and she's says I'm getting the dress to use and my picture in an actual fashion magazine when I wear it. Only a thumbnail picture, but Momma, it's a designer dress, not offa the rack or anything."
"Gawd, I always said you coulda been a model, if you weren't so short." The smile was back in her mother's voice. "Do you think I can get her to find a mother of the bride dress too?"
The intercom buzzed. "Mr. Daniels, Judge Daniels is here to see you."
Frank rolled his eyes and wondered what screw up had gotten his father to drop in unannounced on a Tuesday when court was in session. "Send him in and then bring us coffee, Sheila."
Judge Brian Daniels walked into the windowless inner office his son occupied. Three short steps brought him to the chair in front of Frank's desk and he moved the stack of papers to the floor so he could sit in the cluttered space.
"Your mother is making my life hell."
"And how are you today, Dad," Frank ignored the voice of doom pronouncement his father laid on his youngest son.
"Your mother seems to think you don't love her anymore; at least that is the whine I got a breakfast." The judge steepled his fingers and stared into his boy's eyes.
Frank dropped his head to his chest and gave his father the evil stare right back at him. He was not about to cave into his parent's emotional blackmail this time.
Judge Daniels began "your mother put her…"
"Life on hold after your accident to make sure that you could function at your full potential. Yes, Dad, I know and I know how lucky I am but I am thirty three years old and by the time BJ and Clare were my age they were married and gone. Did you ever wonder why they went as far away as they did?" Frank leaned his elbows on his desk and renewed his stare and for the first time, the Judge turned away before he did. One point to Frankie, it was time to be a little nice. Sheila brought the coffee in just in time. "Why are you here while court is in session? Run out of arraignments?"
"Actually, there was a bomb scare, so I took advantage of the situation to see you." A smile flitted across his father's lips that made the Judge look like William Hurt, only with dark hair. "Now, what is your mother so annoyed with? It couldn't possibly be the fact we still haven't seen more of your fiancée than her back as she scampers off to work."
"Scampers? Karen is a detective, a homicide detective for the NYPD. I don't think scampering was a pre-requisite to getting into the academy." Frank stopped; he knew his father had just gotten him back. "When do you want us there?"
"Tomorrow night at seven, that is if nobody in the Eighth Precinct dies violently."
"I'll call and ask Karen to make sure there are no violent deaths in her agenda. Now, how about drinking your coffee and telling me what you really want to say."
Karen nosed the car through the Manhattan traffic all the while keeping a never ending monologue droning into Jim Dunbar's ears.
"You wouldn't believe the hell apartment hunting has been. Either there are stairs where there should be ramps or the doors are so tight off the hallway you can't maneuver a wheelchair inside without taking your kneecaps off and don't even start me on bathrooms. And the prices, god, as soon as you say accessible it's like the realtor's cash registers goes cha-ching and the price of everything doubles."
Jim put his hand up to stop words coming out of Karen's mouth. "Welcome to the world of the handicapped," he said with a grim smile. "There is always going to be someone who is going to equate… disabled with stupid."
Karen glanced at her partner. She had never heard him talk like this before.
"Christie and I are lucky, we were already settled when this happened." Jim waved his fingers over his unfocused eyes. "And I don't have to worry about climbing stairs, just tripping over them. Where are you looking to live, anyway?"
"Anywhere but where we are now. My place is too small and Frank lives in his parent's basement."
"I thought he had money? I bet the both of you could find something really nice?" The silence from the other side of the car spoke volumes to Jim. "I bet he has found some nice places already, hasn't he?"
"Yeah, but I don't want to spend all his money on a place we'll probably not stay in very long."
"Karen, talk to me. What is the real problem?"
"We're here," Karen ignored the question as she pulled the car behind one of the black and whites already at the crime scene.
Jim slipped his glasses on his nose before getting out of the car and shook out his white cane before Karen could get to his side. "Tell you what; let's count how many of these guys talk louder as soon as I get there. If it's more than four you have to buy the coffee, deal?"
"Deal," and then Karen winced when the first uniformed office who was virtually beside them nearly shouted at the top of his lungs for Jim to watch his step.
The opening of the front door and the jingle of dog tags told Christie that her husband was home. She watched him as he went through his coming in ritual and remembered the orientation and mobility trainer stressing about a place for everything and everything in its place. It took all the spontaneity out of home décor, but being able to see Jim stride through their home with confidence was worth the price. After dropping his badge in the desk drawer he should have went for a beer but instead tipped his head to the left and went completely still. Then he turned and walked straight to her.
"How much Chanel No. 5 did you splash on today," he smiled as he sat down next to her.
"About a gallon, I wanted to be a soft target tonight," Christie leaned into his shoulder and Jim snaked his arm around her.
"You are always my soft target." Jim buried his nose in her hair and breathed in deep. Christie snuggled closer to him and sighed, it was as easy to really love him as it was to get really mad at him.
"What's for dinner?"
"We're supposed to be going to the Four Seasons for a meet and greet tonight," She felt him stiffen underneath her, "but we have the perfect excuse to stay home because of the… operation… you know."
Jim chewed his lip. Christie had left the decision to him whether to go to some fashionista function or not. He remembered telling Karen today about the world of the handicapped and what it was like to inhabit that closed little ghetto. Did he really have to right to consign Christie to this place when all he had to do was move forward to get out? He was a the NYPD's first blind police sergeant and he was probably a lot more interesting than three quarters of the weirdoes that populated Christie's world. He'd just have to keep the white cane out and keep smiling. What was one more fake smile at one of those little soirees anyway?"
"Can we at least get a slice before we go? I hate the mouth surprises I get when canapés get shoved at me."
"Of course, oh Jimmy, thank you so much. I've been going stir crazy here these past six weeks." Christie jumped up and put her hands on his shoulders. "I know just what you should wear, totally masculine and totally gorgeous."
"Yeah, I just live to be totally gorgeous," he deadpanned until Christie's grateful kiss made him smile.
tbc
