DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS
THIS CHAPTER IS GOING OUT TO AFROZENHEART412 AND BRINCHEN 86. HOPE YOU LIKE THE LINDS/BREEZY TIME!
Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off
"She'll start with kickin' out of her shoes
Loose an earring in her drink
Leave her jacket in the bathroom stall
Drop a contact down the sink
Them pantyhose ain't gonna last too long
If the DJ puts Bon Jovi on
She might come home in a table cloth
Ya tequila makes her clothes fall off
She can handle any champagne brunch
A bridal shower with Bacardi punch
Jello shooters full of Smirnoff
But Tequila makes her clothes fall off."
-Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off, Joe Nichols
Lindsay's POV
My best friend is the perfect example of why you should never judge a book by its cover.
By day, she's a mild mannered, often scattered brained and attentive mother of three. She's a schoolteacher by trade; casual pantsuits, pencil skirts and blouses buttoned up to the top, her hair in a ponytail or bun and no makeup gracing her youthful features. She's a content housewife who wears her husband's sweats and t-shirts around the house whether or not she has an enormous pregnant belly to cover up or not, and who adores him with every fibre of her being and is his biggest supporter and one woman cheering section at his hockey games. Who in all intents and purposes, looks like one of those fresh face actresses on Noxema commercials, the apple pie and milk type of girl that every mother in the world would love their son to bring home one day. Who'd you expect to find bringing snacks to their kids' soccer matches and spending her spare time serving on the PTA.
Nothing can be further from the truth when it comes to Bree-Anne Flack. I'd learned quickly that under the sweet and slightly naïve personality lingered a fractured and troubled girl. Someone who'd spent years hiding secrets and who'd sacrificed her own personal happiness to protect her child and the man that she had loved since she was thirteen years old. Who'd felt oppressed by her strict, God fearing family and had been made to feel as if she was a disgrace, an embarrassment, for simply being a human being that made human being mistakes. Instead of following the letter of the religious law, she'd followed her heart. She'd admittedly handled things wrong; she should have neither married Dean in the first place, nor had an affair behind his back. She had made mistakes and would forever be haunted by them and the actions she'd been forced to take. But in no way had she deserved to be disowned by her family for choosing to get her life back in order. For finally reconciling with the love of her life, the father of her child, and settling down and starting on that long, often rocky road of forever with him.
She hasn't spoken to her parents since she'd told them that she was moving out of their house and marrying Flack. They hadn't even given her a chance to explain how he'd mysteriously reappeared in her life and how she'd never stopped loving him and wanting to be with him. Instead, her mother had stood by without even an ounce of compassion or reason as her husband kicked their only daughter and their grandson out of their house. And out of their lives.
Bree-Anne doesn't talk about that day with her parents. And as her second wedding anniversary approaches and she silently and contently devotes her life to being a mother and a spouse, I know for a fact it bothers her that her family has nothing to do with the kids. She doesn't care what they say about her or how they choose to treat her, but like any mother, she'd defend her children to the death and to protect them and preserve their happiness at all costs. They're far from perfect; that's what makes their family so damn appealing and lovable. Everyone is free to make their mistakes and to learn from them. So maybe sometimes Collin's too mouthy and lets out that demon child attitude problem of his, and maybe Flack works way too much and often has a hard time turning off that cop side of him -he's strict and no nonsense at home, sometimes to fault- but this is a family that loves one another. Two parents that would work themselves to the bone to provide for their children; a husband and wife that in their pasts have concurred some of the darkest days of their lives and have managed to prosper together.
Maybe it's the flaws that lie just under the attractive, seemingly flawless edges that had drawn me to Bree-Anne; imperfections had made us so compatible as friends. We come from similar upbringings. The youngest child and only girl in a large, middle class family with a deeply rooted faith based system. Throughout our school years, we'd both been viewed as unpopular, opting to devote our time and energy to our studies and making and maintaining a handful of tight relationships instead of being part of an enormous social circle. And we'd both suffered significant loses and had been wounded emotionally as a long term result. While my experience had been far more tragic and horrific, losing my best friends at the hands of Daniel Cadence and suffering from the survivor's guilt that has plagued me nearly all of my life. I still can't shake the sounds of the gunshots and the screams as I cowered in the bathroom of that diner, or forget the tremendous grief and sorrow that had my friends' families had suffered through. And while I've coped well and I've been fortunate enough to both accept the love and support from those closest too many, there's a part of me that will always be slightly guarded when it comes to establishing relationships; a lingering fear that I'll lose them the moment I get close to them.
Bree-Anne's ordeal, while not as horrendous, had been enough to permanently damage any human spirit. As if living through an emotionally abusive and volatile marriage hadn't been enough -I personally didn't blame her for seeking love and comfort in the arms of someone else, especially when she had such an incredibly history with that person- she'd had to live through the shame when her husband had not only murdered someone, but had been responsible for stealing drugs from an NYPD raid. Dean had been an embarrassment to anyone remotely close to him; he didn't warrant an ounce of sympathy and certainly didn't deserve to have someone like Bree-Anne in his life.
While we've talked about our pasts and she'd opened up about how it had felt to be vilified on the stand by the same monster who'd victimized her during their marriage, I can't begin to understand how it must have felt to sit in room crowded with not only strangers but with her family and closest friends as well, and bear every one of her dirty little secrets. And I can't imagine how hard it had been on her to feel as if she had had no other choice but to lie about the paternity of her son; to force herself to stay away from someone she loved to the ends of the earth simply because she felt as if she had to protect both of them.
All is well that ends well, I suppose. While there's some psychological scars we both carry that will never fade, I like to think we're remarkably well adjusted. We've managed to successfully maintain our careers while balancing the rigors of marriage and child rearing. Despite our trust issues, we have stable, happy personal relationships; our husbands are not only the loves of our lives, but the lights of them as well. No matter how often we bitch and complain about them, Danny and Flack are the constants in our lives, the two people that we cherish the most and who we know will always have our backs no matter what. Who won't betray us our ever let us fall. Love is in no way an easy street; but it's a two way one and we work damn hard on keeping it flowing relatively smoothly.
Friendship wise, at the risk of sounding cliché, Bree-Anne and are two halves of the same whole. Our blemishes are what bonded us together, and keep us in tune with each other. We know that we can always count on each other to lend emotional support, well meaning -if not always appreciated- advice, and the proverbial kick in the ass if either of us mess up. On the outside, we may appear sweet and 'girl next door, take home to mom', but inside we're both enigmas. Challenges. Which is what both keeps the men in our lives so entertained, and keeps them coming back for more.
"Anything amazing is hard work," Flack had declared at his own wedding. "And anything that feels this damn good is definitely worth fighting for."
Bree-Anne keeps him on his toes to say the least. And if he'd only known exactly what kind of spectacle she'd made of herself at the strip club, he'd most likely keep her locked inside the house for the rest of their marriage. Underneath that soccer mom, PTA persona was a wild child desperate to get out, and the second we'd stepped into that club and she'd ordered a round of snake bite shots and Singapore Slings for everyone -minus a pregnant Stella, of course- and two bottles of Grey Goose vodka, I'd known that what I was about to witness would go down in history. Mrs. Flack was a party animal; a side of her I'd never witnessed before. And if downing drink after drink and shot after shot wasn't enough, she'd kept us all entertained by her constant trips to the stage with dollar bills down the neckline of her dress that the dancers plucked out with their teeth.
And the girl had some pretty good rhythm. During breaks in sets in which the in house DJ played for the crowd, she'd joined the crowds of women that descended on the stage and for lack of a better term, 'shook her booty'. We'd been unable to stop ourselves from both laughing hysterical and cheering her on, and Stella had snapped a few pictures with her Iphone of Bree-Anne working the stripper's pole as good as any pro. Shimmying and shaking with such skill and finesse -the best part had been when she'd sunk down onto her haunches and then had slowly slithered to her feet, running her hands sinuously up the pole and pretending to drag her tongue against it as well- that one of the male dancers had come out during his break to stuff money down her clothes.
Safe to say, if she was that dangerous and bad in a public place, I would only imagine what kind of show Flack was in for when his intoxicated wife finally stumbled through the front door.
We'd gotten as far as the end of her driveway -Stella had dropped our drunk asses off- when Bree-Anne had announced that she just wasn't quite ready to re-enter the land of seemingly endless loads of laundry and mountains of housework and 'not being able to pee in private without calling for mommy'. So instead of staggering up the front walk and fumbling with keys in her state, she'd announced that we were heading for Dunkin' Donuts three blocks away. She was in the mood for a hot chocolate and a donut -"My addiction," she'd declared "I am married to a cop remember. Coffee and donuts?"- and she wasn't going take no or "I'm too tired" for an answer.
So at two in the morning we're wobbling on our heels -more from the alcohol surging through our systems than the fact that we're used to flats, sandals and bare feet- through the front door of the twenty-four hour donut joint. We're loud and obnoxious; our random fits of laughter and our potty mouths attracting the attention of both the young woman behind the counter and the several patrons lingering over their coffee and snacks. I suppose we're also being stared at because, shamefully enough, we probably look like 'women of the night' in dresses that barely 'cover our bits', as Danny likes to say.
And of course, my best friend is quite the sight to behold in not only those hooker boots, but the neon pink feather boa that's wrapped around her neck and the cheap plastic, bejewelled tiara that's perched upon the top of her head.
"You look like a drag queen!" I cry, then burst into a fit of laughter. "Like you've just won Miss Drag Queen of America or something! You remind me of Pat.."
"Patrick Swayze in To Wong Foo!" Bree-Anne shrieks at the same time as me. "I loved that movie! Miss Vida Boheme, baby!"
"I loved John Leguizamo!" I exclaim. "Chi Chi Rodriquez! And that part where they're driving in their old caddy and they're alongside the train and that song by The Commodores is playing…God…what is the name of that song?"
"She's a Brick House," Bree-Anne bursts into song and proceeds to get her groove on right there in the middle of the donut shop. "She's mighty mighty, just letting it all hang out. She's a brick house, that lady's stacked and that's a fact, ain't holding nothing back."
When she finally finishes her impromptu performance, the clerk behind the counter and the customers at their respective tables burst into applause and whistling, and she curtsies to her loyal subjects several times before giving a polished and polite Queen Elizabeth style wave and blowing kisses.
"Remind me again why I stay friends with you?" I ask, my cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of red as I follow Bree-Anne to the counter.
"I keep you young," she declares, giving her ass a shake as she yanks the hem of dress down as far as it will go. "Same reason my husband stays married to me."
"Are you kidding me?" I laugh. "You're the one that's given him all that grey hair. He stays married to you because he can't live without you."
"Well see how true that is when word gets back to him about my little performance. See that guy at the table in the far back?"
I glance over my shoulder. "What about him?" I ask.
"That's one of his dad's buddies. So you can guarantee I'll be the talk of the town down at O'Toole's when my father in law goes for his daily pint and bitch session tomorrow."
"What can I get for your ladies?" the young server behind the counter asks. Candace, or Candy as she's been letting all of our kids call her for the past year, is a single mother of three struggling to make ends meet after her husband decided to up and leave her for her older brother. Just when you thought nothing could be more complicated and bizarre than your own life, you hear something like that. "Or should I say gentlemen?"
"Oh very funny Candy," Bree-Anne rolls her eyes. "You know, it's a definite sign that you feed your kids way too much junk when you know the Dunkin Donuts girl on a first name basis."
"Or a sign that your husband drinks way too much coffee for his own good," Candy grins.
"He's a cop!" Bree-Anne cries. "Coffee and donuts might as well be their own food groups!"
"That is the worst stereotype ever," Candy says. "Saying that all cops drink coffee and eat donuts."
"Apparently you don't spend a lot of time around boys in blue," I say. "Because they do eat a lot of donuts and drink way too much coffee."
"I guess unlimited use of the handcuffs make up for it," the younger woman snickers.
"Oh absolutely," Bree-Anne laughs. "In fact, he's been a bad boy lately and I think he deserves to be shackled to the bed post later tonight."
"That isn't punishment," I declare. "That's his most perverted dream come true."
"Actually, his most perverted dream come true involves the handcuffs and me and Rachel Bilson," Bree-Anne says. "But that is just a whole other story."
"You been making friends with Jack Daniels tonight?" Candy asks, and moves to prepare our order.
"Are we that predictable?" I inquire. "Like, seriously?"
"Two pink sprinkles donuts and two large hot chocolates with a quarter chocolate milk to cool them down and whipped cream and chocolate shavings on the top," the clerk answers confidently.
"We really need to find a different place to hang out," Bree-Anne sighs, as she pulls her cell phone out of her purse and checks for any missed calls. "And it's actually Jack Daniels, Jim Beam and Jose Cuervo," she adds.
"Nights like this are exactly why the old ball and chain doesn't let you out of his sight," Candy teases.
"Trust me, the leash is just long enough for me to get some sort of playtime," Bree-Anne says. "He's already left me three voice mail messages and four texts. Wondering where I am and when I'll be home and reminding me that I have three kids to take care of early in the morning."
"He's just a concerned and loving husband," I tell my best friend.
She rolls her eyes and slips her phone back into her purse. "Husband? What husband?" she asks and looks around the donut shop. "I don't have a husband."
"You'd die without him," I declare, and she gives a broad smile in agreement. "So did you hear?" I ask Candy as she brings our drinks and snacks. "Our kids are getting married."
Candy arches a quizzical eyebrow.
"It's all planned!" Bree-Anne exclaims. "We already have the date picked out, the church is on speed dial, the guest list is already prepared…"
"Your kids are babies still," Candy reminds us.
"So?" I ask, and pick a sprinkle off my donut and pop it into my mouth before sliding into the nearest stool in front of the counter. "There's nothing wrong with being prepared. Collin and Lucy are already madly in love with one another and we are damn determined that nothing is ever going to change that! They're destined to be together and we're going to make that happen."
"Well good luck with that," Candy says, as Bree-Anne tosses her a ten and waves off the change. "Anything can happen between now and then," she continues, as she leans against the counter and my best friend takes a seat beside me. "I mean, Collin could hit sixteen and decide he's gay for one."
"Bite your tongue!" Bree-Anne cries. "His father would have a stroke! Donnie's hell bent that Collin is going to be just like him."
"Christ, what a terrifying thought that is," I grumble. "Another Don Flack Junior wandering the earth? God help us all. Lock up your daughters or stock up on birth control. Or better yet, slap on some chastity belts or sterilize them all together."
"He's not that bad," Bree-Anne defends her husband. "Okay…so he had that whole little manwhore thing he went through right before we got back together. But he's not like that now. He's a one woman man. Or at least I hope he is…"
"He's too scared of you to ever cheat," Candy teases her. "He knows you'd chop it off."
"Yeah…she threatens him about it every day," I laugh, and elbow my best friend playfully. "Don would never, ever cheat on you," I assure her. "He's wholly and completely devoted to you. He worships the ground you walk on. And he sure wouldn't risk losing his family. That and he knows that Danny and I would kill him, chop his body into tiny pieces and scatter them all over the city."
"Well if he ever does cheat," Candy says. "Let's hope it's not with one of your brothers."
Bree-Anne makes a gagging noise.
"So do you ever do any of your stripper moves at home?" I tease my best friend. "Do you ever break out the g-strings? Do you have a stripper pole in your bedroom that we don't know about?"
"Are you kidding?" she laughs. "Waste my best moves on him? Never…"
"I couldn't afford her anyway," a deep, familiar voice says from behind us, and both Bree-Anne and I nearly choke on mouthfuls of donut.
"Speak of the devil…." I say, coughing and sputtering as I glance over my shoulder where Flack, in a pair of faded, baggy jeans, a black Henley shirt, and a NYPD windbreaker, stands with his arms crossed over his chest. His feet are bare in his sneakers, his hair is mussed and there's a couple days worth of stubble on his face. And the expression on his face is stuck somewhere between amusement and annoyance.
"Hi honey!" Bree-Anne chirps. "Let's play how many cops in the shop! I see one…" she points at me. "Two!" she gestures at her husband. "What are you doing here? You put a GPS chip in all of my underwear or something?"
"A little birdie called my dad and he called me," Flack gives an appreciative nod to his father's friend in the back corner of the shop. "Told me that something that belonged to me was singing and dancing in the middle of Dunkin Donuts."
"She's a brick house…" Bree-Anne starts to sing once again, then pipes down when her husband shoots her a foul, unimpressed look. "Please tell me you didn't leave the kids alone or that they're not all bundled up in the car at two thirty in the morning."
Flack gives a snort and shakes his head. "Danny's crashed on the basement couch. He'll take care of things if need be. And speaking of taking care of things…don't you think it's time you found your way home?"
"Ummm…" she reaches out and picks up his right hand and turns it so the watch on his wrist is facing up. "No…I don't turn into a pumpkin for another half an hour."
A smirk tucks at the corner of his mouth. "I think it's time to go, Bree-Anne," he says, then gently wraps his fingers around the top of her right arm.
"Alright…alright…" she sighs heavily and gets to her feet, then stumbles in her heels and lands flat against his chest. "I've got something just for you when we get home," she declares, and trails a finger all the way from the bottom button on the neck of his shirt, to the top of his jeans. "Something very, very, very special," she tucks at his belt.
"Time to go," Flack repeats, and slipping out of his jacket, drapes it over her shoulders. "You too Mrs Messer," he says, and jerks his head towards the door.
I give a reluctant sigh, bid farewell to Candy and then fall in step alongside of Bree-Anne as we follow behind Flack.
My best friend nudges me with her elbow, then nods in the direction of her husband's ass.
"I like big butts I can not lie…" she launches into the infamous Sir Mix A Lot song.
Flack shakes his head, chews on his bottom lip to keep from laughing, and pushing the door of the donut shop open with his hip, motions for us to go ahead of him.
"You'll pay for that," he declares.
Bree-Anne and I both burst into a fit of giggles and link arms as we stroll towards the waiting SUV.
It's definitely been a night for the memory books.
Thanks to everyone that is reading, reviewing and even just lurking! I appreciate all of the support!
Special thanks to:
Afrozenheart412
Brinchen86
CSINYMinute
Dark Wing Gibbs (I still can't stop laughing from your review, thanks for making my week! I needed that! :))
ParaCaerOuVoar
xSamiliciousx
wolfeylady
Forest Angel
Collegegirl52
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Storywriter
CSINYtwins1412
