Chapter 4
Jo poured the freshly brewed coffee as the door closed and the reporter left. Jennifer stayed the night distrustful of the cop's assurances that Jo wouldn't seek Marshall out after she left. Their late night conversation branched from the egotistical heir to something that Jo had been contemplating for a long time, revenge. Jennifer sold herself as an ally. Though, Jo didn't readily agree to anything she couldn't ignore the woman either. The woman had stated in not so many words the implications of Boots 'condition' as she delicately put it would be damaging for her. Jo didn't like to be threatened. And while her finger itched to close into a fist and convey her disinterest to be threatened she practiced restraint. Boots at her worse, through the eyes of a reporter, was a powerful weapon for a reporter. Jo would pull her resources to learn more about the eager stranger.
"Morning," Boots drawled from the hallway. With purposeful steps she stopped at Jo's side claiming the cup of coffee the cop had sat down to cool.
Her eyes lowered to the liquid as she began to add more sugar and cream to the mix ignoring Jo's imploring gaze.
"Who were you talking to?"
Jo looked at the nape of Boots neck. Hairs too wild to be tamed in the haphazard bun she made tickled the delicate line of her neck. "What?"
Boots turned leaning against the counter with a knowing smirk, "if you're going to invite a woman over at least have the decency to include me in the fun."
"You wouldn't have enjoyed it," Jo deadpanned honestly.
Boots closed the miniature distance between them thumbing the belt loop of Jo's jeans. "What would you know about what I enjoy?" Her breath smelled minty fresh. Jo couldn't say she was surprised. The woman even in the privacy of her own home rarely let her perfect façade drop.
The cop drew back her eyes never leaving the other woman, "maybe not as much as I thought. I still don't see what you're doing with Marshall."
"I don't think you need much of an imagination to know what I'm doing with Marshall." Her giggle was mirthless.
Jo shrugged away from the woman. Boots hands fell dejectedly, and whatever frustration she felt at Jo's response she let her fall from her face replaced by an impassive mask. She watched as the cop looked around the living room where she slept gathering her things.
"What are you doing?" she glared at Jo's persistently jerky movements.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jo growled flailing her sneakers in her hand becoming increasing agitated by the puzzle of Boots actions.
Boots liked to make the brunette upset. Sitting on the arm of her chair parallel to the cop she helped the robe slide down the leg smiling triumphantly as Jo's eyes trailed to her naked leg. She leaned back on the back of the chair at an angle knowing the movement would reveal more flesh.
"Attempting to seduce you." She answered honestly.
Jo's brows knitted to a frown. Her face darkened in anger and lust and Boots was unaware which aroused her more. Her legs widened letting one foot sit on the cushion while the other hung off the side of the arm. In her mind she beckoned Jo forward. Her body begged to be touched. Her soul desired to be saved, but the words were at a loss to the usually articulate woman. She wanted Jo to rescue her. How many more nights of empty sex until Jo got a clue? The drugs made Marshall bearable, the drugs made life bearable. But Jo impacted her more than the few moments of oblivion drugs induced.
"When you look in the mirror are you happy with whose looking back at you?"
Boots eyes knitting together, but her legs lay open in invitation. "Is this a game?" she leaned forward her eyes brightening. She wanted to Jo to care, but it was hard to show her appreciation for it. It made her feel vulnerable. She didn't enjoy the feeling.
"You tell me. You're great at 'em," Jo glared. Her accent thickened with the raw rage she kept at bay for the sake of the pretender too wrapped up in her persona to let her guard down. Jo could pick them couldn't she? If it wasn't an emotionally unavailable daddy's girl then it was an emotionally unavailable drug addict.
"You're a little too old for sticks and stones Jo," Boots made light of Jo's attack even as she felt the sting of the insult burn in her chest.
Jo could stay and trade words and empty insults and build up to a finale where they temporarily lost their limbs in a sea of sheets. But Jo hadn't slept well that night. Not with a nosey reporter refusing to leave to babysit her. Not with images of Marshall's smug smile being pounded by a determined fist.
"I've gotta go."
Boots didn't bother to attempt to see the woman out. Her strides were too fast for Jo to be concerned with an escort. Jo wanted to get as far away from Boots as possible. The heiress knew it didn't make sense, but she couldn't help but liken Jo's hast to her ex husbands departures for work. He was always eager to leave as if he would catch something if he stayed and talked to her longer than a second before work.
Jo didn't want her anymore? That would explain the scarcity of her company of late. Jo didn't want her anymore. It was strange how quickly a collection of words, if said in different tone could change from a question to a statement with deafening finality. If Jo didn't want her there was someone who would. Though, the person would only be a stand in, Boots knew disappointment like an old pair of jeans brought out for special occasions when the usual designer favorites were far too precious to abuse. Her marriage had been a disappointment now whatever she had with Jo was take a nose dive.
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Captain Lundy had twenty plus years on the force where instinct kept him alive and sane. Politics was a blood sport that some people couldn't appreciate because more often than not it lacked integrity. In a society of wicked priests, street walking adolescent mothers, and more integrity meant little in reality where darker urges took reign.
Glairing up at the smiling face greeting him as he walked up the precinct steps he stopped only to get the conversation he knew out of the way. Graham's appearance at the station was always expected, there was always some case to open or to close or one to reopen. Though, in his hands were treats and Lundy knew that whatever the occasion it didn't bode well for a certain detective.
"Counselor," he greeted two steps from the entrance.
Graham returned the greeting with a reverent "captain." He held out the box of pastries, "I was on my way up to get acquainted with Hal Fuller,"
The captain would never consider himself a traitor, but his stomach was another matter he realized when he couldn't help but reach for the plumpest looking pastry in the bunch. Fuller was designated to take over Jo's cases. Natural the ADA would like to touch base with the new lead detective, but it didn't warrant a house call especially for the minor cases Jo was responsible for in the last few months.
"Did Jo get transferred?" Graham started walking with the Captain when it was clear he wasn't going to entertain standing out in the open air.
"Why?" the captain asked between a bite and a swallow. Crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth a fact that if he were aware he didn't seem concerned.
Graham smiled indulgently prepared for the question. Lundy listened to his weak excuse to get in contact with Jo over a case, but it wasn't good enough. The Captain countered that Jo was on assignment and wasn't due to return any time soon. Graham's attempt to find out about the unit was in vain. Lundy wasn't biting anymore since he had finished his pastry. He would have to find out where the cop was without his help.
The only reason he was remotely concerned was because of a disturbing phone call from the Parent patriarch. Graham received a handsome fee to keep tabs of the persistent detective. It wasn't that he didn't trust his son even though he knew his proclivity for trouble. The older man didn't like surprises and there was a determination in Jo that he didn't want to son to fall victim to.
"What are ya fishin' for?" the cop asked straight forwardly before he got comfortable behind his desk.
He hung his jacket over the corner of his desk his arms crossed his ample chest. Graham knew the posture well. He'd been subjected to it for years when Lundy put on his detective head to try to mind read a hapless victim to his imploring gaze. "You still doing that routine?" Graham called him out good naturedly.
The cop shrugged, "if it ain't broke..." he trailed off letting Graham finish the rest.
"Protocol's important. It's the difference between seeing the work pay off keeping criminals off the streets."
Lundy interrupted unmoved, "pull that with someone who doesn't know how good you bullshit." It was one of the reasons he was encouraged to become a lawyer. He talked well sometimes too well. Though, the older man could see through the self righteous charade.
"Anything that you needed to take up with Jo Fuller can help you out with instead. Outside of that she's out of your reach counselor." He moved around his desk placing his jacket on the back of the chair waiting for the younger man to leave. Graham placed the box of pastries neatly on the Captain's desk. "You know if you're so interested in talking to her, aren't you married to her best friend?" the older man quirked a gray brow.
"Girl fight," the lawyer answered vaguely, "enjoy," he nodded towards the box before he left.
Before he drowned in paperwork Lundy looked at the clock. It would be too early to call. He'd wait until later in the day. Graham was looking for a way to start trouble. He didn't think that lawyer would be so proactive.
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"Get anything outta him?" Jo asked when she saw Danny relaxed on the couch watching reruns of I Love Lucy. Jo smirked when she noticed it was one of her favorite episodes. Lucille Ball in comedic perfection stuffing chocolate down her blouse of her factory uniform, under her hat, and that red rimmed horn she called a mouth.
One arm behind his head and the other resting comfortably on his stomach Danny regaled her on their progress. "After a few hours of persuading him he told us everything. He's gone now back to his lab. He's got no idea who we are, but he's scared shitless."
Jo nodded as she leaned against the chair genuine interested stopping her gaze on the television screen.
"What kept you away so that you missed all the fun?" he asked directly not expecting a real answer. He'd read a little of the cop's file. Jo wasn't a climber like her former partner ADA Birch, Jo's jacket until recently was a shoe in for promotion. And then it went south with cases thrown out before they could even be taken to court. Then the violence and now when she could go no lower she was given the opportunity to do what good she had left in her to do here. But it was obvious to the observant man that she could get distracted. That type of proclivity didn't bode well for her and by extension it affected the team. They didn't need an addition, but here she was and he'd be damned if he let her ruin it because of personal issues.
"Stuff," her answer was as vague as he expected. He rose from the couch following the woman with her gaze as she walked around to the other couch to sit.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I don't do twenty questions," Jo stated dryly.
"I read that you're a good cop. I hear that you're even better in real life than you are on paper. I don't ask for much out of anybody I just want your undivided attention. I don't know what's going on, but if it's more important that getting your head blown off then by all means be distracted. But those of us that give a damn ain't got time for whatever is you're trying to figure out." Rising to his feet without waiting for a reply he left Jo to be serenaded by the beginning credits of Green Acres. Jo turned her gaze to the green grass and the open space displayed on the screen. She wondered if life could be as simple as the show. Then she answered her question before she entertained the absurdity of simple in the real world. If it were that simple then she could swallow the truth about burgeoning feelings for Boots, the apathetic addict. It was a thought that she now and again entertained.
Leaning on her knees her head dropped to the carpet. Feelings for Boots, a half smile rose and fell at the internal admission. In school she could barely stomach the woman, but there was little left of the spoiled socialite to dislike. Now in her place there was a fragile woman drowning without the good sense to admit that she needed help. They rarely talked about her past. Boot wasn't one to wonder about the 'what if's' of life. Instead she looked forward as if she was unaffected, but the way she responded to world around her Jo knew otherwise. She'd been hurt. By her husband, by her parents, by her friends and there was nothing left to do but punish herself for their wrong because she wasn't brave enough to hurt the people responsible. Or at least that what Jo thought she thought—who knew? Whatever assumptions Jo had made to try to figure the woman out went out the window every time Boots invited Marshall's company.
Jo wasn't satisfied with jealousy. The word, no, the emotions didn't feel adequate. She had rage towards Marshall coupled with an astounding disgust at the thought of Boots enjoying his touch sent Jo reeling. True she had no claim to the woman, but that shouldn't have mattered. As a concerned friend she expressed her dislike for any association with the snake. Speaking of the snake, she wondered on the charmer that had spent the night 'guarding' her. Jennifer something, she chewed the name over in her head, but a last name escaped the cop. She remembered she worked for the same paper Natalie did. Perhaps she could drop in on her old friend and if she happened to come across more information about the sleuth then it would give her a better idea of what she wanted. Marshall was old news and reporters rarely attacked anything that wasn't relevant enough to sell papers.
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Blair stood in the door way of her home. A high heeled wearing silhouette that would put a harlequin novel heroine to shame. She looked at her home so immaculate. She stared at the detail of the architects design and the interior decorators dream come alive in a vision Javier boasted had no price. But there was a price for everything, whether it was paid by flesh, blood, or the little rectangular plastic card she never leaves home without.
Her hand followed the smooth line of a marble wall. So clean and pristine and in a moment with enough force it could crack and what it could it do in its defense? What could she do to defend herself? She smirked smacking the marble lightly with the palm of her hand. What does she need defending from? Ringing disturbed her thoughts. The closest phone was in her husband's study. Crossing the threshold she clasped the ivory colored phone putting it to her ear after relieving the appendage of a pearl stud.
"Birch residence, Blair speaking," her voice maneuvered the polite sophistication.
"Don't hang up the phone it's me," Dorothy rushed before the blonde's could react.
For a week Blair ignored her calls. Natalie was equally difficult to reach. The wave of the proverbial white flag wasn't enough for her stubborn friends. She didn't know how else she could persuade her friends to listen to her outside of persistence.
"I'm busy Tootie," Blair droned.
The other woman on the other end rolled her eyes at the use of her adolescent nickname. She knew Blair only used it to pluck a nerve.
"I'll make this quick then. I overstepped. I'm sorry and I want to make it up to you."
Blair pursed her lips fingering her earring as she stayed silent for the actress to continue.
"Hello? Blair?"
"I haven't hung up yet," the blonde offered.
Dorothy encouraged by that one accomplishment continued to detail how profoundly sorry she was. She was blinded by her over protective nature. She didn't trust that Blair could keep a level head if Jo decided to abuse the history they shared.
Blair couldn't help but interrupt, "What part of the years we've known each other did you get the idea that Jo would manipulate our friendship."
"None," Dorothy admitted. "But I'm sure there was plenty of time for Jo to entertain the idea."
"That's insane," the blonde defended the brunette.
"So is love," the younger woman countered. "Have you seen the way she looks at you? I have."
Leaning on the corner of her husband's table Blair looked at the door. Her mind drifted to something she could only describe as an aberration. Jo in a distressed brown jacket and gray sweater, her pants were bleached and white sneakers finished the rugged ensemble. She leaned against the door drinking the lawyer in with hungry eyes. This wasn't the look that Dorothy meant. This was a look Blair hadn't meant to commit to memory. It was the first time she knew that Jo was different and that she might be different as well. No man had looked at her the way that Jo had and if they had she wasn't sure her reaction to it would have been the same.
"Blair?" startled from her reverie the image disappeared and the socialite struggled to catch up with Dorothy.
"What?"
"What do you think? A play and dinner I've already sent the tickets over so it's bad taste to refuse."
A troubled Blair smiled weakly into the phone accepting Dorothy's apology. A night out with Graham and the girls sounded normal. Recent events had ignited an uncertain flame that burned brightest whenever she stepped into the solidarity of her own mind. It was scary the images that seemed so real of late. Jo's lips on her lips Jo's hands moving along her body taking the liberties only a lover could. It was almost a year since that night with Jo. She felt sure in the arms of her best friend in a way she never had with Graham. It was a conundrum that until now she kept at bay with work, but now it starting to become more difficult to ignore. Imagining Jo didn't seem to help at all.
"Blair you ok?" Dorothy asked her voice filled with concern.
The socialite looked at the phone forgetting she was still on the line she hurriedly began to ease Dorothy's suspicious worry. A beep on the other line signaled another incoming call.
"I'm fine Dorothy I have someone on the other line, but we can iron the details out later this week," her voice sounded normal to her ears. The actress accepted that whether there was someone on the line or not, she had Blair's verbal RSVP and that was enough for her to hope they could put their troubles behind them.
After bidding each other goodbye she clicked over to the other call. Before she could speak to the voice on the other side barreled on to someone Blair could hear in the background. She knew the voice immediately. Slamming the phone down on the receiver she left her hand resting on it.
Marshall Parent? Why was he calling her husband? She jumped when the phone rang again. Picking up the phone this time she answered waiting for a reply. A dial tone answered.
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Natalie twirled a pencil between her fingers while another rested in her hair behind her ear. She looked at the yellow pad with blue lines and notes scribbled quickly. Picking up the pad with her free hand she held the pad to her face trying to decipher a certain letter. Shaking her head she threw the pad down to look at her computer screen. A blinking cursor taunted her as she thought about how best to write her next sentence. The article wasn't rocket science nor was it meant to be as eloquent as the Illyiad, but that didn't stop Natalie from taking pride in her work. If she couldn't write about what truly interested in her she could at least write about something that didn't interest her well.
"I like the pencil it goes good in your hair," Jo leaned on the monitor. Natalie's eyes darkened at the sight of her visitor. Jo expecting her reaction pushed forward as if she'd been keeping in touch. "So this is the writer in all her glory," she picked up a ball of play doh that had pronounced indentations of finger marks.
"Put down the doh Polniaczek," she trained her gaze on the computer screen.
Jo stopped toying with the deformed sphere following Natalie's direction. "Look, Nat…," Jo started, but Natalie interrupted.
"You were busy," Natalie began typing. She stopped, "you lost track of time. You've been going through a lot. You're dog ate your homework," Natalie sat back with her arms crossed glaring at the cop. "Every excuse is still just an excuse Jo and I'm at work so I don't really have time for it."
"I didn't come here to give excuses. I came here to apologize for not talking to you sooner. For shutting you out, it was wrong. I'm sorry."
"Where've you been Jo?"
The brunette shrugged, "working."
"Not at the precinct they said you transferred and they couldn't provide me with a where or a number. You're never at your house so I never tried. I've been worried sick about you and it's not fair for you to come to my job and expect me not to chew your ass out for being a jerk."
"I expect and I figured that I could give you a couple hours to figure out how bad to chew me out before we met up for dinner tonight. I'm paying."
The last part caused an interested brow to rise. Natalie knew that Jo meant business about reconciling if she was making a point to propose a night out and pay.
"I get off at five but I'll probably stay an hour later."
"Perfect," Jo jumped at the opening, "I can pick you up and we can order something on the way to your place and then you'll have plenty of time to get on my case."
Jo could have sworn she saw a small smile play on the corner of her mouth before she stood up and pushed Jo away from her cubicle. It was three in the afternoon and Jo needed to be at the Arcade to at least make an appearance. She hadn't seen Jennifer and she was thinking that might not since she was at the door of the elevator where Natalie and shoved and left her.
The bell rang and the doors opened to a group of people that stepped out except one who met Jo's gaze with interest. Stepping in Jo hit the button. Jennifer looked at her reflection and then measured the cop beside her with scrutiny.
"How is she?" Jennifer broke the uncertain silence.
"Fine," Jo answered determined to keep her answers short. She hadn't learned anything about Jennifer yet, but hopefully tonight with Natalie she could probably get a detail or two out.
"I'm glad," she whispered needlessly. "Have you thought about my proposal?"
Jo shook her head, "You don't want something for nothing. I don't figure you for that type of girl so cut the bull and tell me what you want."
"Marshall's head, but since that doesn't seem like enough suffering I'm aiming for some jail time and a statement that men like him can't treat people like dirt."
This crusade or whatever it was Jennifer called it was personal. Jo could understand wanting to do more harm to the man than legally allowed. But personal vendettas were never cut and dry. The cop still knew too little about the woman to ally with her because she claimed to dislike the man. For all Jo knew this was a setup staged by Graham to put one more nail in the coffin of Jo's career. She could acknowledge the paranoia of the thought, but she could live with being cautious.
Nodding her head she started out the elevator without another word. Jennifer ran behind her shoulder her purse, "we can help each other detective."
"How?"
"You can't tell me you don't want Marshall as much as I do," she put a hand on Jo's arm.
The cop looked down at the unwelcome appendage. "I don't know you well enough to comment on that." Pulling her arm away Jo continued out the door.