The next evening, after the court session ended, Harry paid a visit to Christine's apartment. Earlier that evening, he was informed that Christine had called in sick, and that he would have a substitute public defender until she returned. As far as Harry knew, Christine was the healthiest person he knew, and something about her calling in didn't seem right. So, he grabbed his hat and some take-out, and drove over to Christine's apartment.
He knocked on the door a couple times before he heard a strained voice answer.
"What?!"
Harry never heard Christine answer like that. This was unlike the woman he knew. But then again, he rarely visited her to know her demeanor outside the courtroom.
"Christine? It's Harry. I heard that you were sick, and I wanted to check up on you. I brought you some soup and sandwiches. Or rather us some soup and sandwiches."
To Harry's shock, the always pristine Christine Sullivan answered the door with disheveled hair, red eyes and a bathrobe.
"Well! Isn't it the Honorable Harold T. Stone," smirked Christine.
"Hi, uh, Christine. Are you okay?" he asked, taking in Christine's appearance.
"No, Your Honor. Tony dumped me," she slurred, leaning against the doorway. "Are you coming in...or...are you gonna stand outside with the food?"
"Yeah, I'll come in," he answered, sliding by her.
Harry never saw Christine in such horrible shape. At that moment, she wasn't the cheery, confidant public defender who defended her clients to her utmost abilities, even if their defenses were unfounded. What he saw was a dejected soul in need of a shoulder to cry on, and Harry decided that he would be that shoulder. He set the food on her table, noticing a bottle of vodka that was almost empty. While Christine struggled to lock her door, Harry swiped the bottle and discreetly hid it next to her stove.
"So, are you okay?" he asked again, awkwardly.
"Didn't you hear me the first time, Your Honor? Take a good, hard look at me. Doesssss...it look like I'm okay?" she snapped, stretching her arms for Harry to behold her.
"Scary, isn't it? To see your precious public de-FEND-der like this, huh? How about I give you a closer look of the world's most rejected woman in New York?"
Staggering towards him, Christine tripped over a stray shoe on the floor, causing Harry to jump to her rescue.
"Whoah!" he shouted, catching Christine in his arms in time.
"Harry, please, I don't feel like dancing," she whined, attempting to straighten herself.
"Christine, maybe we should sit on the couch," he said, taking her arm gently to lead her to the piece of furniture.
"I thought that we're eating, Your Honor. That's why you brought the food, right?"
"Yeah, but I think we should talk about what happened."
"Why? So that you can wag your finger at me for losing Tony, and lecture me on how I could have been 'more' understanding? Or is it because of the vodka bottle over there-where's the bottle?"
Ignoring her question, Harry seated her on the couch, and sat next to her, pushing over used tissues.
"Come on, Christine. I'm not here to judge you. I'm here to help you. Just tell me what happened."
"What happened was that you...brought me food," she slurred again, with a definite nod. "And that is veryyyyyyyy nice of you, Your Honor."
"I mean between you and Tony," he clarified, ignoring the vodka stench on her breath.
"What's to talk about? He said that it wasn't going to work out, that we were...toooooooo different!" she squeaked.
"I told him that I could learn to be more spontaneous and adventurous if he would just give me a little time to prove it. I even told him that I could cut the crusts off his sandwiches, to prove that I can go against the system!"
"Christine, you do that for kids, not for grown men," reminded Harry.
If she wasn't drunk, Harry would had mentioned that cutting the crusts off of bread would have little impact on society. But now wasn't the time.
"Well, some people don't like crusts! Oh, Harry! Look at what I've become! I shouldn't be like this over a man. I gave him my time, my heart, and I let myself fall in love with him, just to be dumped in the end. What's wrong with me that I can't get a guy to stay? Gosh, I hate my life!" sobbed Christine into her hands.
Harry put his arm around her and pulled her to him.
"There, there, Christine. There's nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. And everything's gonna be fine. Besides, that Tony don't know what he's talking about. Any intelligent woman who has the guts to defend people who alledgedly commits crimes is adventurous in my book. It just takes a special kind of guy to appreciate that."
Christine looked into his eyes, comforted by his caresses on her shoulder. "You mean that?"
"Would I lie to you?" he smiled, smoothing her hair from her eyes.
"You've always been so decent to me, Harry. Even when we disagreed."
As she leaned on his shoulder, Christine took in the scent of cologne on Harry's person that tingled her nostrils in a sensual manner. She started rubbing her thighs together, longing for Harry to put his hand between them.
"I want to do...something nice for you, Harry," she said, silkily into his ear.
"Oh, gee, Christine, you don't have-"
Suddenly, Harry felt the tip of Christine's tongue lick up his jawline, followed by Christine sucking on the cool surface of Harry's neck, causing his eyes to roll back in pleasure and his lips to purse. As Christine's other hand massaged his crotch, Harry's arousal fought with his resolute to not cross that line that he and Christine had often seemed to tread so near.
"Harry, make love to me," she whispered, now rubbing his chest.
The words he waited so long to hear pierced his mind and heart as her ministrations aroused him further. He wanted her and he wanted her badly, but her breath reeked of alcohol and he knew that the sober Christine Sullivan would never be this blunt.
"Christine, why don't I take you to your room, okay?" suggested Harry, breaking from her touches.
Christine giggled, misunderstanding Harry's intention. "Well, I guess the couch isn't a good place for a first screw, huh? Well, onward, Harry!"
After raising a brow at what she said, Harry helped Christine into her bedroom and pulled back the covers. When Harry turned back to Christine, he found that she took off her bathrobe, revealing a black, sheer nighty that silhouette her body from the light in the living room.
"Take me, Harry. Make me feel desired," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Knowing that, in good conscious, he couldn't honor Christine's request, Harry pulled her arms from him and sat her on the edge of the bed to reason with her, only to be ambushed by her busy hands undoing his belt and pants.
"Christine, please! Not like this," pleaded Harry, gently pushing her hands away.
But Christine's blurry eyes looked up at him with lust, resuming her task. "Just give me five minutes and I'll make you so happy, Harry. I can do this, you know. I'm not that much of a prude as all of you think I am!"
When her hand reached inside his pants, Harry panicked.
"Christine, no!"
He pushed her away and left her alone, slamming the door behind him.
As he leaned on the door, fixing his pants, he heard soft whimperings from the other side that turned into a sob. Harry felt bad for the way he left her, but he tried to make Christine understand that he couldn't have her. He thought about leaving, but reasoned that she'll feel worser for it. Therefore, Harry put up the food in Christine's refrigerator, took off his shoes, hat, and jacket and laid on the couch, hoping that his public defender would be more forgiving and reasonable to speak to in the morning.
