Title: All Wet
Author: Misty Flores
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT
Rating: Will become M eventually.
Notes: Another how-they-met story, focusing on Joanne, trying hard to not get caught up in the hurricane of Maureen.
--
Chapter 3.
Joanne Jefferson was a self-admitted control freak. It went with her job and her life. Everything had it's place and time, and while she could aesthetically appreciate a little mess and clutter, as a whole, she felt most comfortable when she had a handle on things.
Business dinners were well planned and calculated. She rarely sat down at a lunch without doing her research before hand, knowing everything about the client from favorite wines, to their religions, sexual preference and taboo subjects. It was a skill honed from countless political dinners, where Joanne, as the model only child, was forced to sit alongside her parents, poking as politely as she could at squid and caviar and once, this absurd fermented soy bean concoction.
As a result, Joanne had learned to be comfortable with any situation presented to her, and she was grateful for it. It allowed her to connect to her clients and keep in control when buying an evicted single mother a hot dog or eating seared tuna off a fancy china plate with a senior partner.
There was something about Maureen Johnson that invited pure, utter chaos.
Joanne had had only two previous encounters with the brunette, and each one seemed more bizarre than the first. Now, with the tip of her finger twirling around the delicate stem of the champagne glass, she watched with a simmering sort of aggression, as Maureen laughed and joked with her boss and her nemesis.
It was a completely idiotic. Joanne was understandably pissed, because no sane person would ever invite themselves to lunch with someone they barely knew – particularly with their type of interaction.
And no sane person would act so entirely friendly with someone who could be so understandably pissed.
She took a delicate sip from her champagne, determined to remain clear headed. Joanne had her moments for letting go, and was told by a few of her friends that she was an incredibly fun drunk. ("You have this weird fascination for asses," Megan said to her once. "You can't stop slapping them. It's hilarious.") Still, now was not the moment to showcase that particular side, not with Maureen on one side, Nicky on the other, and Mr. Finch looking over it all like some disapproving governor.
And God help her, Maureen was actually charming. It had been a discovery she wasn't exactly thrilled to make – she was too intent on being angry. But Maureen knew how to tilt a champagne glass just so and would smile with her too wide mouth and laugh in this throaty chuckle that made Joanne's teeth clench in reaction.
"So what's Joanne really like?" Nicky asked, obstinately nosy, hidden innuendo in his tone. Joanne arched a stiff brow, but Maureen only looked at her with a smile. "It's just she's so impersonal at the office – we know more about her father than we do her."
"Her father's a damned fine man," Mr. Finch interrupted. "Saved my life during the war."
"Really? I didn't know that." Maureen said breezily. "When I was a kid I protested the war. I stood outside my parent's house with a cowbell and banged on it until my mother made me come in for dinner."
Joanne nearly choked on her champagne.
Mr. Finch's mustache shifted slightly. "Indeed."
"And then I went on a hunger strike," she continued.
"To protest the war?" Nicky asked.
Maureen glanced over, and rubbed fingers over her leather gloves, absurdly out of place on the linen place setting. "No, because I thought it would make me thinner. That and my mother had served venison. I was really not into eating Bambi."
Joanne couldn't help her sudden chortle, caught between mortification and a flash of genuine amusement, as she reached for her napkin and hid the quirk of her lips behind it.
"That's… " Nicky trailed off, obviously at a complete loss as to what to say. Instead he offered a sort of awkward toast, before taking a swig of his champagne, downing it almost like a shot.
"Well, I think I'm ready to order," Joanne said finally, picking up her menu, making it a point to look completely enthralled in the items. "The catfish looks spectacular. Mr. Finch?"
"You protested Bambi?" Mr. Finch repeated.
Maureen looked slightly confused. "No," she answered flatly. "I protested eating Bambi. But it was silly, I'm much better about what I protest now."
"Oh? And what do you protest now?" Nicky asked, as if he couldn't help himself. Biting her lower lip, Joanne had to admit she was almost curious herself. Despite herself, she was having a bit of fun taking in the glassy eyed gaping fish expression of her colleagues.
"Starbucks," Maureen answered, just as Joanne had begun to chew on a small bite of pumpernickel.
It took thirty seconds of unladylike hacking and Maureen slamming on her back to cough it back up.
--
"Starbucks?"
The word came out choked, frustrated and, when Joanne heard them coming out of her own mouth, slightly insane. There were so many other things that Joanne could have said at the moment, standing outside of the restaurant, trying hard to ignore the stern look from Mr. Finch and the wide jerk smile from Nicky as they left in their own taxi.
She could have demanded to know how Maureen had found her. She could have outlined the legal terms for stalking. She could have explained to Maureen that normal people didn't molest dispositions and protest things for no reason or had perfectly molded asses.
Instead, the only that came out, was her spit out, "Starbucks!"
"What! They come into places and the local coffee houses have no chance! They clean them out, and then these quaint family run café's are killed. Killed! Just last month they closed Fifi's!"
Joanne could only stare. "How is that relevant?"
"It's relevant because I performed there every Wednesday night!" Maureen said hotly, as if this was something she should have known. "Starbucks doesn't let you! Believe me! I've tried!"
Deciding then and there her head would explode if she didn't move, Joanne turned and dug her hands into her pockets, veering away from her and moving down the block, searching the traffic for an available taxi.
Unfortunately, Maureen fell right into step beside her. "You don't have to go back to work now, do you?"
"Excuse me?"
"I don't feel like going home yet."
"You don't-" Nearly stumbling, Joanne turned and finally faced Maureen. What she saw was startling: a confident, beautiful face, mouth pulled into a small pout. Fingers tugged on her sleeves, and it occurred to Joanne that she was actually being flirted with. The thought caused a rather unwelcome warm sensation in the pit of her stomach.
"Come on. Let's hang out."
Blowing out a frustrated breath, Joanne made an effort to step back. "Exactly what has given you the impression that we're friends?"
"I don't think we're friends," Maureen replied. "I think we could be."
"Because we have so much in common?" Joanne asked acidly. "Maureen, you can't just show up at my office when you barely know me, and expect me to take you to lunch-"
"Of course I can. I just did." Maureen grinned, a brilliant smile that made Joanne look away once more. "Come on, I saw you smile at the table. I did."
"That's besides the point."
It was a defeated mumble, Joanne's overwhelmed spirit nearly beaten beyond recognition, as Maureen came even closer, smelling of cheap perfume and an earthy feminine scent.
"So what is the point?" came the surprisingly gentle response.
"I'm gay," she said suddenly, and the look on Maureen's face told her she clearly had said that wrong.
"Baby, I kinda figured that when you and Nicky couldn't keep your eyes off my ass when I went to the bathroom."
Joanne flushed, trying hard to ignore the fingers on her coat. "Maureen, the men I work with – they are very quick to assume things. And you showing up there –"
"Uhuh?"
"They'll think I'm sleeping with you."
Maureen leaned back, mulling the thought, and Joanne bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed.
Brown eyes studied her intently. "Fuck 'em."
A tired, wry smile turned up at the phrasing. "I don't. We just established that."
Just as the beautiful smile lit up the sharply defined features, the wind picked up, and for a brief second, Maureen Johnson looked like some sort of wild Amazonian Princess, a gorgeous haunting image, wild curls sweeping around her.
When Joanne felt light headed, she realized she had been holding her breath. It was then, she began to understand just how in trouble she really was.
-- end chapter
