Chapter Twelve
Lips grazed playfully along Olivia's neck, pausing briefly to nip at her earlobe, and her limbs tingled with a paralytic current. Alex straddled her, settling on her pelvis, and her ribs didn't scream out in protest like she thought they would. Olivia credited the libidonous drift running through her for the lack of pain, and sighed in pleasure as Alex continued her soft assault on her neck. The blonde's white slip glowed as it moved against her skin, her nipples pressing against the translucent material. Olivia moved to slide the thin straps off her shoulders, but her hands seemed weighed down, keeping her helpless. She felt Alex inch her t-shirt up over her stomach, felt the plump lips nurse her bruised flesh. But when she glanced down, her skin was unmarred, her stomach healed. Puzzled, she arched into the blonde's lips, which were sliding up to her breasts. Then she felt the sharp, stabbing pain, and was lurched into darkness.
For the first few seconds of consciousness, she wasn't able to place her surroundings, but after a few moments, the hotel room sharpened, and so did her pain. She was sitting upright, a sheen of sweat cooling her skin. For a moment the dream persisted like a stubborn memory, and she wished like hell it had been. But the space next to her was empty, and so was the small bathroom tucked into the far corner of the room. Alex was nowhere, but an open newspaper lay fanned across the small table near the door, along with an abandoned cup of coffee.
Olivia cursed her luck, sifting through the more pleasurable parts of the dream, which wasn't helping the throb in her pelvis, when Alex slid into the room wearing her dress from the day before, a newly filled bucket of ice in her hand. "Morning," she said with a chipper smile, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that they had hidden out in a hotel room overnight. "I brought you some more ice. And coffee."
Olivia appreciated the gesture, but couldn't help grimacing at the sight of the dress, which now covered the slip she had pictured so perfectly in her dream. Not that she expected Alex to wander through the hotel in her undergarments, but Olivia couldn't help but wish that she had stayed in bed a little longer, the feel of that thin slip and the smell of her hair still imprinting themselves on her senses.
Alex's expression clouded as she walked closer to the bed, her gaze troubled. "Do you have a fever?" she asked, placing a concerned hand across Olivia's forehead.
Her touch only rekindled the dream, and as Alex's palm moved from her forehead to her cheek, and then down to her chest, Olivia imagined herself imploding from her unmet need. "I'm fine," she said quickly, grabbing the blonde's probing fingers.
"You're acting strange," Alex said, narrowing one eye, but she peered at Olivia's face with an almost clinical attention. "Your eye isn't so bad," she said, satisfied. "The swelling would have been worse without the ice." She turned back to the table, her dress unwrinkled, as if she had taken a hot iron to it. Olivia's own t-shirt was rumpled, riding above her navel during her dream, and she pulled it roughly down over her stomach. "I brought you a muffin," Alex continued as she sat at one of the straight-backed chairs at the table, the only other place to sit other than the bed. "You'll need something in your stomach."
"How long have you been gone?" Olivia asked wearily, swinging her feet to the floor. She had no idea how long she'd been wrapped up in the dream, but she hoped Alex hadn't been around to witness it.
"An hour, maybe. I've been up for a few hours."
Olivia whooshed out a sigh of relief and glanced at the clock against the wall. "Jesus, is that really what time it is? What have you been doing all morning?"
Alex's eyes floated over the bare hotel room. "Honestly, not much," she said with an earnest shrug of her shoulders that pulled a smile from deep inside Olivia. "I wandered around downstairs. Read the paper. Wandered around downstairs again" She laid two aspirin next to a small paper bag along with a glass of water. "Are you hungry?"
Olivia rose from the bed, testing her equilibrium, which was no worse than after a night of hard drinking. The pain in her ribs was palpable, but not unbearable. "I didn't think lawyers made such good caretakers," she asked, ambling towards the table.
The blue eyes looked towards her, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm not a lawyer."
Olivia shrugged. "Law student, then."
"I'm not a law stu – " she narrowed her eyes. "We have bigger problems right now than to parse my academic status."
"You're right," Olivia agreed, a certain levity lightening her chest. "You, for one, have to figure out how to get your veteran husband back to the psychiatric hospital with as little commotion as possible." She grinned, taking a bite of the muffin. It was nutty, not too sweet, which is exactly what her stomach needed.
Alex wasn't amused. "This isn't a joke, Olivia. Your cover has been blown."
"So you're saying he doesn't believe I'm a war veteran." She knew she was pressing her luck, but there was something oddly enjoyable about riling Alex up. So far, her attempt at humor was doing just that. "Look, Alex, it was just a little fight that got out of hand. Nothing to worry about. Comes with the job."
"Do you always have a side of bravado with your breakfast?" Alex asked, leaning into the table. "This wasn't a little street tussle. Jack Spade knows you're looking into him."
Olivia leaned forward, matching Alex's pose, even though her ribs protested the movement. "You don't know that," she countered. "All you know is that Robert wanted you to think that."
"Oh, please, Olivia." Alex's mental wheels had clearly been turning all morning, and now that she had Olivia as a captive audience, she wasn't about to let up. "Then why did Nicky Burns start the fight anyway? He knew you were following him."
"Technically, Slim started the fight." She saw Alex inhale impatiently, but preempted her retort with a raised hand. "Let's say you're right. Let's say Nicky Burns knows I was hired to follow him. The real question is: how does he know?"
The blonde sidestepped the prompt. "Why can't you just let Johnny do this on his own? Let the mobsters go at it themselves."
Olivia had her own theories as to why she'd been hired, namely that Johnny was smart enough not to start an all-out mob war. If Spade thought he was being independently investigated, then there would be no retaliation. Of course, she didn't give a damn about Johnny's reasons. She cared about her own. The reasons he'd laid out for her plain and clear the first time she met with him. "I can't do that," she said quietly.
"Why not?"
She shrugged, not particularly wanting to lay out the real reasons, at least not before she'd downed her coffee. "I need the money."
"I know that's not true."
"And how can you be so sure it isn't?"
"Because I'm the one who does your books." Alex's expression softened. "And I know that there are many ways to be coerced into doing something. I don't think cold hard cash is the way Johnny Mack got your attention."
"So now you think you've got me all figured out, huh?" Olivia regretted the comment as the blue eyes hardened again. "Look, Alex, I can handle this."
"Do you have any idea what these people are capable of? Because I certainly do." Alex's voice tightened with bitterness, but rather than continue, she turned her attention to her paper. Their pause was pregnant enough to birth a small calf until the blonde finally punctured it with a soft request. "Eat your muffin."
Olivia slid half of it over to her as a small peace offering. Her ribs weren't exactly helping her mood. "Have some."
"No, I'm okay with coffee," Alex replied, keeping her eyes on the fine black and white print in front of her.
"Anything interesting in there?" Olivia asked, flicking the paper with her finger.
Alex peeked at her over the edge of it before lowering it and flipping a few pages back. "Actually, this was quite concerning." She fingered a small column along the left side of the page.
"Ahh, right. Nan," Olivia said. She popped the two aspirin, washing them down with most of the water. Nan had never taken investigations into her affairs well, and usually ended up making a bloody, public battle out of them, which Olivia had never thought was worth it. Not that Nan ever listened to her. "She'll be fine, the club will be fine. It's just something that comes with the job."
"Is that your response to everything?" Alex asked. "'It comes with the job'?"
Clearly, Alex never listened to her, either, which meant she was a glutton for punishment or she simply enjoyed a good challenge. This morning, however, the challenge was quickly turning into a headache. "You know what doesn't come with your job, Alex?" she said. "Telling me how to do mine."
Alex dropped the paper back onto the table. "If I'm not mistaken, you would be sitting in a jail cell right now if it weren't for me."
Olivia let out a sarcastic chuckle, which seemed to unleash a suspicion that she'd tried to keep at bay. "Who am I to say this isn't all part of the plan," she muttered.
Alex's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Funny, that my troubles with the ADA started when you showed up, isn't it?" she asked, the words bubbling from some uncertain place inside her, their truthfulness unsettling, even if she couldn't really believe them. Or didn't want to believe them.
Alex jerked as if she'd been slapped, but instead of anger, her eyes held quiet resignation. "I see," she said, standing slowly. "Let me ask you this, Olivia. This ridiculous paranoia?" she asked, pointing a pertinent finger at her. "Does that come with the job, too? What else comes with it? Loneliness? Living out of your office?" She spat the last words as she stalked past the table: "Fucking your secretary?"
Olivia caught Alex's arm above the elbow, shooting out of her chair, and they faced each other, a standoff heated by something much more than just anger. Olivia waited for Alex to jerk away, but when she didn't she pulled the blonde closer to her, and without a word, took her lips in a kiss that put her earlier dream to shame.
The grip she had on Alex's arm turned into a soft caress, brushing upwards, moving behind her neck and pulling her even closer. Alex's hands were less adept, more concerned with staying away from Olivia's ribs, but they found a comfortable place around her shoulders. They didn't stray from one another's lips, each nibble, each slow caress of a tongue returning them back to exploring each other's mouths. Only after breaking the kiss, both of their chests heaving as they recovered, did Alex place her hands against Olivia's chest, tracing the v-shaped lining of her t-shirt. It was a quiet gesture, but it changed the tone of their embrace from some misguided passion into something more reticent. And that was something neither of them were willing to confront.
Olivia took a step back, and Alex stayed slumped against the door, their meaningful moment broken by a sudden sense of awareness. "I don't live out of my office," Olivia said, scratching the back of her head. She didn't bother denying Alex's other accusations, but let her denial hang in the space between them.
"I hate Robert Thorne," Alex said, her voice so hateful it wasn't more than a whisper. "The only way I would help him is if it was into an early grave." She seemed surprised by her vehemence, and shook her head, as if ridding it from her body. "If you can't see that, then you're not as good a detective as I thought you were."
"Alex, I didn't mean what I said earlier," Olivia offered. What she should have said, should have confessed to, was that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about the blonde since she'd waltzed into her life. That timing had a way of bringing people together when they least expected it. But she didn't. Instead she let her weak apology stand, unsupported.
"I should take you home," Alex said. "I'll go into the office and check the messages. I'm sure Elliot or Nan is probably wondering where you are." She moved towards the back of the room, gathering the few items that had made it out of her purse during their brief stay.
Olivia's head had begun to throb, signaling the aspirin couldn't hold a candle to the headache she was bringing on herself. She had spent most of the night running through the case, her dealings with Johnny, Slim, and now Spade and Robert, but something wasn't adding up, and the best she could do would be to wait for someone to slip up. Lying low for a couple of days wouldn't hurt. And she was guessing, by the way she had just lost control, that it wouldn't hurt to put some physical distance between her and her assistant. She could still dream, at least.
Alex sat at her desk several mornings later, unseasonable sunlight warming her back as it streamed through her window. Her head was bent towards a new contract, proofreading it intensely, despite the fact that her boss wasn't one to be bothered by a stray typo or grammatical error. Still, it was a longtime habit that law school had only further ingrained into her psyche.
She hadn't suspected Olivia would stay away from work for too long, but her boss had surprised her by staying out of the office for a couple of days, only calling once or twice to ask about business. A couple of times she thought about offering to bring her a small dinner, but each time she bit back the offer, afraid that it was merely an excuse to see her. She had been surprised, and flustered, to see Olivia appear that morning in the office, her eye less swollen but still slightly yellow. After a brief, formal exchange, she was gone again, and Alex found herself left alone, filling up her boss' hours with appointments and clients, intent on keeping her away from Jack Spade and off Robert's radar.
A knock at the door caused her to dart a quick glance at her father's stopwatch, which she had kept on her desk ever since Olivia had restored her rightful ownership of it. She wasn't due back at the office for at least another hour, but that didn't mean Alex couldn't brief a client. She tucked her detective textbook out of sight, plastering a professional smile on her face. Glancing curiously towards the door, her mouth parted in surprise as she took in the short, feathered gray-blonde hair, the smart, equine nose and the clay-colored eyes of the woman that she had last seen outside Robert's office.
Her heart hammered in her chest, but she kept her recognition to herself. "Hello," she managed, standing, squeezing her pencil tightly in her hand, feeling it bend slightly with her grip. "Can I help you?"
The woman stood just inside the door, and for a moment Alex thought she might turn and leave. Instead, she stepped forward with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry for disturbing you," she said, her voice gravelly. "I work for Robert Thorne. My name is Elizabeth Donnelly."
She extended her arm, and Alex dropped the pencil onto her desk, hoping that the rehearsal of manners would give some respite from her initial alarm. "Alex," she answered, offering nothing more. She could only assume Robert had sent her, which meant the less friendly she seemed, the better.
Elizabeth didn't immediately release her hand, and her brown eyes softened as she studied her, the brown eyes floating over her as if seeing a ghost. "You look just like him."
Alex's hand went limp and she pulled it quickly back to her side, clenching the fabric of her skirt in her fist. "What are you talking about?" she asked, suspicion inkling slowly up her spine.
The older woman shook her head, her lips pursing into a contrite line. "I'm sorry," she offered. "I've worked at the District Attorney's office for years. I was lead assistant for your father during his time there. You're his spitting image."
Alex felt as if she needed to sit, but her legs wouldn't bend, so she leaned against the desk, averting her eyes as she tunneled into her memory. She recognized the name, had heard it slip from her father's lips many times during those early mornings in his office. Liz. Every Christmas, she heard him labor over his holiday card to her, always lamenting with a chuckle the fact that it was the one letter that he couldn't rely on his assistant to write for him.
"I'm sorry to barge in on you like this," Liz said, pulling her attention back to the present. "After I saw you at the DA's office, I couldn't get you or your father out of my mind. I've been trying for a week to make it over here."
Alex looked back at her, studying the fine lines etched around the corners of her mouth, the hands that belied her age. "No, I'm sorry," she said, rounding the desk, forcing her body to work. "Can I take your coat? Or get you a coffee?"
Liz smiled at her, but shook her head. "No, thank you, I'm just on a lunch break. Your manners are just as impeccable as Bill's." She cocked her head and gestured towards the desk. "If I could take a moment of your time, I want to talk to you about your lawsuit against Samuel Thorne."
Alex's shoulders went rigid. "I don't wish to discuss that," she said tersely, fully prepared to revoke her invitation to sit.
Liz seemed undeterred by her reticence, and continued. "DA Thorne is under the impression that his reply brief was filed with a certain judge with whom he is quite friendly. Instead, I filed it with a judge that I know from my days working with your father. He's fair, respectable, and I expect that he will deliver a ruling in your favor."
Alex stood for a moment, letting the information sink in, and sat in the closest chair available, which she usually reserved for clients. There was no way an objective judge could rule against her, not after the blatant destruction of her mother's will, but any joy of a win was countered with suspicion. "Why would you help me?"
Liz chuckled, and took the seat next to her, holding her large purse in her lap. "I would hardly call it helping. Your brief was well-written, Alexandra. If it weren't for a friendly judge or two in DA Thorne's corner, you would already have back what is rightfully yours." She raised an eyebrow. "You went to law school, if I'm not mistaken, correct?"
Alex nodded. "For two years."
"Well, I hope you plan on finishing."
An ease fluttered through Alex, relaxing her muscles. "How long did you work for my father?"
Liz smiled proudly. "For ten years. I learned quite a bit from him." Her voice tightened, and she cleared her throat. "As such, I thought that I owed it to his memory to do what was right. He was one of the most honorable men I've ever known. Certainly the pool is not quite large at City Hall, but he was one of the best." She smiled at some unspoken memory.
Alex studied her face, and a thought flashed through her. "My father and you weren't – " her accusation came out jumbled, and she was embarrassed by the older woman's widening eyes.
"No – no, of course not," she said harshly. "Our relationship was strictly professional."
Alex dipped her head towards her lap, blushing. "Of course," she said, clearing her throat and changing the subject quickly. "You work for Robert as well as Sam now, I suppose?"
Liz sighed. "As soon as either of them find out which Judge will be ruling on your lawsuit, I more than likely won't be working for either of them. But yes, as of this moment I work for the DA and his assistant district attorneys."
"Did he send you here?"
"Heavens, no. I came of my own accord. I overheard him speak of Detective Benson after you left, and thought I might find you here."
"Has Robert said anything to you about Detective Benson? Or Jack Spade?"
"Is Detective Benson working on the Skid Row murders?"
"We've tried," Alex said. "But since the NYPD shut down their investigation, there hasn't been much Detective Benson can do. I happen to live in the neighborhood - " she blushed at the revelation, but continued - "and no one is talking."
Liz raised an eyebrow. "Robert said nothing about the investigation being shut down. He's been asking me to follow up with the detectives on the case every day. He even had me pull a few reports this morning."
Alex cocked her head at the new information, but surmised that Robert must be looking into things on behalf of Jack Spade. "Is he looking to make an arrest?"
"Certainly not. If I know anything about Robert, his inquiries are solely to connive a coverup. Samuel has done this before. Get the information from the police and slowly make it disappear until there's not a case left standing. Robert, however, this is new for him. I usually don't catch him lifting a finger at the office."
"Tell me about Robert's interactions with Jack Spade. Do they ever grab lunch, meet somewhere to your knowledge?"
Liz's eyes narrowed. "Alexandra, I see that glint in your eye, and it was the same one your father had. Don't let your principles cloud your judgment. In this city, that won't get you anywhere."
"I'm simply doing my job," Alex said, gesturing around her at the office. "That's all."
"I don't believe that," Liz said with a confident shake of her head. "Whatever brought you here, my dear, may not have been some grand design of your own, but it seems to me you're in the middle of something that has everything to do with your past. Don't search for answers that you already have."
"Did Jack Spade kill my father?" Alex had never asked the words out loud, but they came out stronger than she expected them to, and by the mere act of asking the question, she knew she had the answer.
Liz didn't drop her gaze, and didn't seem surprised by the question, as if it were one that she nursed in her own mind repeatedly. "There is not a trace of evidence tying Jack Spade to your father's accident," she said. "That said, there's no question, in my mind, that he had everything to do with his death."
"Do Samuel and Robert ever talk about him?" she asked.
"As I said before, Alexandra, I try to keep my eyes and ears shut when it comes to these matters."
"How can you? If my father taught you anything – "
"I think my time is up," Liz said quickly, rising from her seat, her pocketbook clutched nervously in her hand.
"No, no," Alex said, grabbing her wrist with a ferocity that surprised her. The brown eyes flashed at her in anger, but she didn't let go. "You didn't come here just to tell me about my own lawsuit. I know you didn't."
Liz wrenched her arm from Alex's grasp, but her eyes held only sympathy. "Robert is turning into more of a liability than Samuel had hoped," she replied quietly. "He's had a couple of run-ins with the police, most of them in Skid Row. A few episodes with a couple of women, all of which have been kept off the books, of course, thanks to his budding kinship with Mr. Spade."
"What do you know about any international relationships between Jack Spade and Nicky Burns?"
"Nicky Burns," Liz repeated. "Robert meets with him at least once a week. I don't know what about, but I know that he keeps it from his father."
"I need evidence," Alex said.
Liz raised an eyebrow. "Spoken like a true attorney. But we all know, evidence only gets you so far." A sudden coldness pooled in her eyes, sending a chill through Alex.
"I don't follow a criminal's moral code," she said, but the words were flat, unconvincing.
"There's no code," Liz said with a tired laugh as she headed toward the door. "They win, we lose." She stopped midstride, her hand going to her purse. "I almost forgot," she said, walking back over to the desk and handing over a small manila envelope. "I've had these in my desk for over ten years. I should have sent them to you earlier."
As Alex accepted the envelope, Liz clasped her hand with both of hers, giving it a somber shake. "My information is inside as well. I don't suspect our contact will end here."
Alex nodded, watching her walk towards the door. "Liz, wait," she said, scribbling something down on a piece of paper and rounding her desk. "I have an acquaintance who might be able to help you with another job, should you have any troubles. You can find her at this address. Just tell her that Olivia Benson sent you."
Liz stared down at the paper. "Birdie's," she said thoughtfully, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds frivolous." She smiled a terse smile, and was out the door.
Alex pressed her hand against the closed door, listening as Liz's footsteps descended the stairwell. She walked into Olivia's office, something she rarely did, keeping mostly to her the outer office, which she had personalized with what little trinkets she had since taking the job. Although there were no pictures gracing her boss' desk, and the bookshelves were mostly littered with files and novelties that she couldn't even begin to place, it still felt quintessentially Olivia. In its wholeness it held something comforting, something that refused to be analyzed or defined by its past.
Taking refuge in the old, worn-in cushions of the couch, she slipped her heels off and curled her feet beneath her. She fingered the envelope in her hand, and with a quick inhale, opened it up, letting a series of pictures fall into her lap. She filtered through them, slowly, fingering the frayed edges of some, the faded coloring in others. Some of them she recognized, but most of them she had never seen. Pictures of her father and mother when they were young, both smiling, her mother looking actually happy. One of her and her father, her seated on his shoulders, him smiling up at her, oblivious to the camera. She leaned her head back against the back of the couch, hoping the motion would stop the tears from coursing down her cheeks, but she felt them slide down the side of her head.
The day it happened had been like any other that spring. She and Aubrey had spent the afternoon at the nickel picture show, in the back row, holding hands discreetly, trading kisses in the stall of a bathroom, all awkward adolescent limbs. The two walked home, trading their requisite pinky embrace at the corner before parting ways, but that day Aubrey had pulled her in for a quick embrace, and she caught a sweet scent, like honey, in her hair. Her pulse had quickened, her secret slowly beating away inside her as she walked up the front steps.
Her mother's face surprised her, and for a moment she thought her secret with Aubrey had somehow been exposed. Usually she let herself inside, avoiding her mother, who spent her afternoons fanning herself on the back patio, and went straight to her room, waiting until her father came home before appearing for dinner. But that day, her mother was waiting for her at the door, and Alex remembered the distinct, swollen look of her face: smeared mascara, faded lipstick, splotchy cheeks. She couldn't remember the exact way her mother had told her, but she remembered dropping her schoolbooks on the polished floor, watching the pages flutter open as her mother wrapped a pair of clammy, damp hands around her shoulders. Her kiss with Aubrey should have faded into the background, but for some reason she kept thinking about it, confused by the idea that she would never have to decide whether or not to tell her father about it. The choice had been made for her.
She hadn't realized she had closed her eyes until she felt a steady hand shaking her. Her eyes flashed open, meeting Olivia's concerned gaze, and she veered upright, the pictures and the envelope sliding off her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, bending over to pick them up, but Olivia beat her to it, crouching and stacking them gently.
"Is this your mother and father?" she asked. She held up a picture of her mother, one that Alex didn't remember. Judging by her mother's bright, youthful smile, it had been taken some years before she was born. "That's some ring," Olivia said with a low, whistle, pointing towards the large ruby, encased with a swirl of gold.
"Mother always made sure to show off her jewelry. It embarrassed the hell out of my father, but he kept buying it for her."
"Smart man, in my book. Always give a woman what she wants. Some women want jewelry, others want shoes," she said with a smile, eyeing the nude heels that Alex wore.
She normally would quip back some smart retort, but instead Alex just managed a slight nod, hoping the conversation would end there, but by the feel of her heavy-lidded, swollen eyes, she knew it wouldn't.
"You okay?" Olivia asked, placing a comforting hand on her knee.
"An old colleague of my father's came by the office today," she replied softly, enjoying the comfort that her boss' touch brought. And once she had released those words, the dam opened, and she rehashed Liz's visit, wishing she had asked more questions, or demanded to meet the woman again. "Olivia," she said, glancing down at her hands. "You asked me when I started whether I was here to find out what happened to my father. But I've always known. Everyone's always known. And Jack Spade wakes up every day knowing that he's the reason my father is dead."
Olivia's hand squeezed her knee slightly. "Alex, I can't promise that Spade will ever be caught for what he did. But, I can promise you that justice doesn't always have to work on a quid pro quo basis. We can get Spade, and who knows, half the DA's office, if we follow up on this investigation. If I link that arms shipment to Spade, there's no way he won't be indicted for treason. There's not a lot of patience out there for traitors. Even New York officials know that's not good politics."
Alex felt a surge of promise as Olivia's words sank in, but she knew it wasn't enough. Not now, not when she held the pictures of the life that had been ripped from her in her hands. "I don't know if I want justice anymore," she said slowly. "I just want revenge." She looked away from her boss' gaze, which held such concern that it made her stomach flip, and she fumbled the white envelope on her lap. "I don't know when I turned into this shell of a person," she whispered.
"Alex, listen to me," Olivia said, the touch of her hand against Alex's own the only thing that forced her to look down at her. "You got a raw deal, that's all. You've done pretty well for yourself, considering, don't you think?" She gestured at her office. "I mean, you're working for a one-man private eye operation in the bowels of Manhattan. Who could do better than that?"
The sarcasm brought a laugh bubbling from her throat, relieving her of the heaviness that sat on her chest. "I'm going to reserve my answer to that one for fear of termination," she said with a smile.
Olivia patted her knees with a resolved tap. "Listen, why don't we close up for today. The sun hasn't shone like this in months, and I'm almost afraid the Fair Labor Practices group would lock me up or shut me down if they knew I was keeping you holed up in an office today."
Alex stared down at the woman, her short bangs brushing almost boyishly along her forehead, but her deep brown eyes startlingly doe-like, and she recalled the same feeling of kinship tinged with something exciting that recalled her kinship Aubrey so many years ago. "Okay," she said simply. "Okay."
Central Park was scattered with people taking advantage of surprisingly temperate weather while it lasted. It had been several months since the city had seen such unbridled sunshine, and it seemed to erase the normal scowls that usually plastered New Yorker's faces. Olivia was glad to see it had also worked on her assistant, who walked beside her with a breezy, if somewhat pensive smile.
They happened upon a small clearing, where a handful of kids had marked off the familiar diamond-shape of a baseball field, using, it seemed, anything and everything to mark the bases. Olivia and Alex sat along a bench, watching them, and Olivia peered curiously at the figure in right field, eagerly pitching a hand into a glove that looked overly large. As she look closer, she let out a grin.
"Check out the girl in left field," she said, pointing. The young girl stood, a cap pulled low over her brown hair, which fell sloppily over her shoulders.
Alex followed her finger, and smiled as she nodded. "Is that what you were like when you were younger? Always tagging along with the older boys?"
"Probably," Olivia said, the mere act of watching the game putting her at ease.
They watched for awhile, the kids' laughter coinciding with the sunshine in a way that made the day seem lighter than it was, something more akin to spring than the dreariness of winter. As the kids ended their game, tapping gloves and pulling on each other's hats, Olivia called out to the girl, who was still straggling along next to a taller boy, the two of them clearly wanting to prolong their time in the park. "You guys mind if we take a couple of swings?" she asked.
The girl glanced at the boy, as if seeking permission, but he shrugged. "Girls can't play ball," he said simply. The smaller girl pounded her fist into his bicep, and he cringed. "Ow! I meant, most girls can't play ball."
"Give us a shot," Olivia pressed, holding her hands out as if to catch the ball. The young boy tossed it towards her with a sudden fierceness, and she caught it one-handed, which seemed to be enough to impress him. Olivia glanced over at Alex. "Want to take a swing?"
"Why not?" Alex asked, taking the bat that the girl handed her, holding it daintily at her side. She walked over to the small home plate, which was marked by a wearing of the grass and an empty aluminum can.
Olivia jogged a few yards away, chuckling as Alex perfected her stance. Her body was rigid, only slightly bent at the knees, but her eyes were narrowed in determination. The girl ran a few yards behind the makeshift pitcher's mound, clearly not expecting to field a hit. The boy balled a fist into his glove and crouched behind her. Olivia's first pitch went sailing past Alex, straight into the boy's glove, so quickly that she didn't even have a chance to swing.
"That was a test shot!" she called, pushing a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes.
"That was a strike," said the boy from behind her as he tossed the ball back to Olivia.
She laughed as she caught it, calling out a few helpful directions. "Bend your knees a bit more, get into the stance, and just keep your eye on the ball." Her next pitch whizzed by again, but at least Alex managed a level swing.
"Strike two!" called the boy pleasurably. But he glanced up at Alex with a sympathetic shrug, and pushed her gently, backing her a few inches away from the can. "You're too close. Try from here. Remembe, the ball is always there before you know it. Swing early."
"Why thank you," Alex said, winking towards Olivia. "He's a gentleman!"
Olivia rolled her eyes, and this time gave Alex a slower, underhanded pitch. Her bat made contact, cracking against it with a loud thwack and the ball sailed past Olivia's left side, sending the girl running after it. "Nice work," she called, laughing as Alex stood smiling, pleased with her effort. "I guess you can't run the bases in those heels, huh?"
"I'm considering that a home run," she replied. "Just call me the Gambino."
"Bambino," Olivia and the boy said in unison. She walked towards Alex, reaching for the bat. "Let me show you how it's done," she said, broadening her shoulders.
Alex raised an eyebrow at her, but handed over the bat. "Show off," she said, but took the ball from the girl, rolling it around in the palms of her hand.
"Hey kid, go cover right field," Olivia said, nodding towards the boy who was crouching behind her.
"Why? I'm catcher."
"I won't need a catcher. I'll need someone infield to catch my hit. No go on out there."
"You might not hit the ball. Then you'll need a catcher."
"Yes, I will hit the ball." She nudged him lightly with the bat. "Don't make me look bad, just get out there."
"You are a show-off," he said, rising slowly to his feet.
"Yeah, today I am."
The boy shrugged and ran outfield, stopping just behind Alex and watching with his arms by his sides. He pounded a tiny balled fist into his oversized glove.
"You gentlemen ready?" Alex called, glancing at each one of them in turn.
Olivia lifted the bat, falling into a stance that she remembered from childhood. "Give me your best pitch."
Alex threw the ball, somewhat awkwardly, but it flew towards Olivia faster than she thought it would, and she only managed to catch the side of it with her bat, sending it flying low towards the far left of their makeshift field. Alex slid out of her heels and pranced towards it, signaling the girl to stay in place.
"You got an arm," Olivia said, her confidence slipping away for a brief moment.
"All that time lugging legal textbooks around," Alex said with a grin as she tossed the ball into the air and clumsily caught it. She turned, this time taking more care in her stance and her wind up. Again, the ball came quick as lightning, spiraling low, and Olivia took a swing, just managing to get a piece of it.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath.
"You keep fouling!" called the boy as he returned from the faux sidelines, tossing the ball underhandedly back to Alex, who grinned at her.
"Is that two strikes?" she asked innocently.
"Yes!" called the girl from behind her.
Olivia shook her head, tapping the bat into the patch of grass before resuming her stance. "Alright, quick-fire, just throw the ball." This time she was more than ready as the pitch came towards her, and caught its low curve right in the center, sending it spinning over her opponents' heads, which all turned upwards, watching it soar behind them, out of sight. Olivia smiled, content.
"Aw man!" yelled the boy, throwing his hands up in frustration. It wasn't the raction Olivia had expected. "Now how am I going to find my ball!"
"Yeah," the girl called, sending a daggerous look Olivia's way. "Why did you have to go and do that!"
Alex put a hand to her mouth, muffling a chuckle, and Olivia's fulfilled smile disappeared as the kids turned dejectedly towards the expanse of the green, the ball nowhere in sight. "Hey," she said defensively, wondering how a couple of ragamuffins could make her feel so guilty. "That was a really good hit."
The boy walked towards her, snatching the bat from her hand. "Thanks a lot," he said dejectedly.
"Hey," she tried again, reaching into her trouser pocket for her wallet. She pulled out a few dollars, and smacked them into his hand. "That should cover five brand new balls."
Alex walked over, following the girl. "Ahem," she said, clearing her throat in mock seriousness. "What about pain and suffering?"
Olivia gave her a quick roll of her eyes, but smiled politely towards the kids as she flipped another couple of ones from her wallet. "There," she said, handing each of them another dollar. "Pain and suffering." She emphasized the last words with a pertinent look back at Alex, who simply grinned. It was a striking, rewarding difference from the sadness that coursed through her back at the office, and for that, Olivia was grateful.
Their kids' eyes were wide as they tucked the money into their pockets, their initial fury at the lost ball now replaced by glee as they flitted through all of the wonderful, wasteful things they could buy with their new wealth. Olivia envied them for a moment. "Thanks for playing with us," she said.
"Anytime!" the boy called as they ran off, jumping along the path, high fiving each other.
"Pain and suffering?" Olivia repeated, leaning towards Alex.
"I like to throw you a curve ball every now and then," she answered.
"You know, you could've played ball at some point – you've got quite an arm."
"Ah, and you could tell that by three throws?"
"Pitches. Three pitches."
"Do you still play once in awhile?" Alex asked. "Looked like you were a bit rusty."
Olivia's face reddened until the caught the small smile playing on Alex's lips, and she gave her a small, playful shove. That, of course, caused her face to redden even more. She was turning into a school boy. She might as well have run off with the two twelve-year-olds to play a game of hopscotch before dinner.
"You know what I used to be really good at?" Alex asked, pointing towards a large, thick-branched oak tree.
"Lumberjacking?" Olivia asked with a playful grin.
"Climbing trees. I'd climb up to the highest branch I could and sit for hours."
"Your head in a book, I bet."
"I suppose that's less cool, then."
Olivia glanced up at the waning sunlight, and already felt the chill threatening in the air. "Why don't we grab an early dinner?" she asked.
Alex glanced over at her, but with her head angled down. "No, that's okay," she said. "I'll just grab something at home." She fumbled the clutch of her purse, an anxious gesture that didn't fit her.
"Like what, apple pie and tea?" Olivia's tone was jovial, but she caught the flush in Alex's neck. She had no idea how bad Alex's financial situation was, but she was most certain the blonde didn't like to discuss it. "Come on, it's on the office," she said. "That way, it can't possibly be a date."
She caught a glimmer of a smile. "Okay," Alex agreed. "But just to be safe, I want you to take me to the cheapest, greasiest place you can think of this side of Manhattan."
Olivia laughed. "You're on, Cabot. But remember, you asked for it."
The two walked only a few yards south of the park before Olivia stopped next to a hot dog cart and turned towards the blonde with a show of her hands. "How's this?"
Alex laughed. "Perfect."
She handed some change in exchange for two hot dogs and they settled onto a nearby patch of grass, Olivia sitting gingerly with her legs sprawled out, and Alex tucking hers gracefully underneath her. "What were you like in school?" Alex asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
The question surprised Olivia, and she finished chewing, stealing a napkin from the blonde's lap. "Would you believe me if I told you I was the smartest kid in my class?"
Alex studied her with a smile. "Yes, I would."
"Then I would call you gullible."
"I don't care about your grades, I care about what you were like. Tell me what you were like in high school."
"Ah, what an embarrassing time," Olivia said with a chuckle, hiding her face with her hand. "I spent most of my days pining after Elliot's girlfriends. I didn't even know what it meant. I just know that I wanted to be Elliot so badly."
"Did Elliot ever have a crush on you?" Alex asked.
Olivia balked, twisting her mouth into a frown. "Never," she said, her mouth full. "I'm sure of it."
Alex chuckled at her, reaching a hand forward and flicking a piece of bun off her lower lip. "I don't know how he managed to resist such a picture of perfection," she said playfully, tossing her another napkin. "You've still got some mustard on your lip."
Olivia took the napkin, but polished off her meal in only a couple of more bites, watching the afternoon ebb as Alex finished eating. "Look at that sun," she said, placing her head on her elbow. She let out a sharp exhale as her ribs cinched. Swinging a baseball bat probably hadn't been such a good idea.
"Here," Alex said, brushing her hands off and guiding Olivia's head into her lap. "How's that?"
After a few moments, Alex's fingers found their way to Olivia's bangs, brushing them off her forehead. It was nothing more than a caring gesture, but she couldn't help the pleasurable ripple that fluttered through her. The fingers traced her jaw line, down the side of her neck, and suddenly the touch was far more than simply a caring caress. She looked up at Alex, who wasn't meeting her gaze, but concentrating on her lips, and she cursed that they were in the middle of a public park and not someplace more private.
A couple passed by nearer to them, and Alex quickly ripped her hand away, tucking it next to her, which only made Olivia curse under her breath. "I'm sorry," Alex said, but Olivia didn't move her head, keeping her in place. "Olivia," she urged, darting a look at the couple, who looked curiously at them. "We're not on our side of town."
"I'm not moving," she said. "I like your lap, and I don't care who knows it."
Alex let out a laugh under her breath, darting another look at the couple, but they had moved on, and her shoulders relaxed. Olivia used the moment to sit up, stretching her legs out from her body. Alex gave her a pithy look. "My lap was just to prove a point, then?" she asked. She sighed, pulling her legs underneath her. "I really appreciate today," she said.
"I'm always willing to provide cheap comfort food," Olivia replied, keeping her eyes on the horizon ahead of her, where the sun was just now starting its heavy descent.
"Not just for that," Alex continued. Olivia waited for her to go on, but the blonde cocked her head, opting for a different train of thought. "I wish I were like you."
That caught Olivia's attention, and she looked over at the younger woman. "Why in the hell would you wish something like that?"
"You just have this… strength about you," she said. "It's more than confidence, it's a sense of integrity and people like it. They like you, you know, even though you pretend not to care. I saw how people looked at you when we were in Birdie's."
"If you didn't notice, they were looking at you too, sweetheart."
Alex shook her head. "I don't need that," she said. "I don't want that."
"Then what is it you want?"
"Time," she said. "I just need some time."
Alex was pensive on the way home, but Olivia didn't mind the quiet walk. Skid Row was quiet in the waning sunlight, but Alex's building buzzed with stifled energy, waiting for the release of darkness. Since she had been back at the office, Olivia had accompanied Alex home each night, making sure she got in safely. She never stayed, and she had no idea if Alex ever left, but judging by the stacks of open books, which migrated to different places each night, it didn't seem she ever left. Olivia couldn't help but wonder if Alex had always been so solitary a creature.
As she followed Alex up the stairs to the third floor, they heard a banging, accompanied by a slurred, feminine growl, causing Olivia to grab Alex's arm and slide in front of her. Stepping onto the third floor landing, she saw Mattie, her brown hair matted along the back of her head, banging a harried fist on the door of apartment 3D. Olivia had no idea who lived there, but whoever it was had surely pissed Mattie off.
"Ursula, get your blonde cunt out here!" Mattie yelled.
"Whoa, Mattie," Olivia said, stepping up behind her, but making sure to keep her distance from the jerky fists that the brunette now balled at her sides.
"I'm looking for Ursula," Mattie slurred, her eyes glassy. Olivia didn't have to inch close to her to smell the vodka wafting from her. Mattie looked at Alex, pursuing her own line of questioning. "You seen her? The blonde that looks like you, only a little less uptight?"
If the comment was meant as a dig, Alex didn't seem bothered by it. Instead a flash of recognition beamed through her eyes. "I haven't seen her," Alex replied. "Last I saw her was with Jack Spade at the Hotel Madison." She glanced at Olivia. "She's the one with the arrangement."
"'Arrangement,'" Mattie mumbled, tossing her hand grandly. "We all know about the 'arrangement'." The word curled off her tongue, slightly slurred. "She owes me some dough from a joint job two weeks ago. Ever since she's been high-falutin' with Spade, she's been avoiding me."
Olivia caught the malice behind the words. Mattie hadn't given her anything about the murders when she talked to her before, but if Olivia knew the one thing to make the brunette talk, it was competition. "You jealous, Mattie?"
"Jealous," Mattie repeated, stretching the word. "What, of the 'chosen ones'?" She laughed, the sound rough and hard from her throat. "These girls are stupid. They think they're signing up to leave this shit-hole, but they end up dead before they even start. Some johns get super jealous when they think you're leaving 'em high and dry. Like there ain't enough pussy running through these halls to make 'em happy."
Olivia felt Alex take a step closer, but she continued with her own line of questioning. "The girls aren't dead, Mattie. They're living it up overseas."
Mattie laughed, her eyes rolling towards the back of her head. "They never made it to Russia," she said. She giggled, hiccupping. She raised a fist to Ursula's door again. "Maybe this bitch never made it, either. Check the gutters!" she yelled.
Olivia gripped her fist before it could make contact with the door, inching closer to her. The skin beneath her eyes was discolored and baggy, making her look wan and ragged. "Mattie, what are you saying?" she asked urgently.
"I'm saying those girls only made it as far as the alley around the corner, and the only money they made was the jewels stuffed down their throats." She giggled again, wrenching her hand from Olivia's and turning her attention to Alex. "So what's the deal here, Blondie, she yours for the night?" Mattie asked, tossing her head casually towards Olivia.
"Mattie," Olivia said, warningly.
"No," Alex said, with a shake of her head, and Olivia couldn't help but feel a knot tighten in her stomach. Not that she had expected anything from Alex, but she was far from ready to market herself as a free agent along the halls of this particular building. Mattie slumped haphazardly against her shoulder, and let out a tired sigh, her hand tapping Olivia's chest.
"Well, then, you can come with me," she said. She stalked back towards the door at the end of the hallway. "But only after I make sure Ursula ain't in here!" she yelled, her voice rising at the end of her sentence, her fist complementing her words.
Alex put a hand on her arm, walking away from Mattie to her own door, but instead of offering an apology or an invitation, offered only business. "See what you can find out from her before she passes out," she said. "I'll keep an eye out for Ursula, see if she comes home at some point. We can compare notes at the office."
Olivia glanced back and forth between Alex and Mattie, her lips slack. "You know, this isn't exactly how I planned tonight."
"Oh, did you have a plan, then? For our non-date?" Alex asked, her eyebrows raised.
"I had a non-plan, yes," Olivia replied, refusing to be upstaged by the blonde's primness. She pointed over her shoulder to Mattie, who was now sitting along the top of the stairs, her head resting along the banister. "But, duty calls. Good night, Alex." She turned, satisfied with her casual display, and hoping like hell that Alex couldn't see how blatantly transparent it was.
Alex put a hand on her shoulder, leaning in to give her a light, chaste kiss on her cheek. "A non-kiss, then," she said with a smile, before giving a slight wave of her hand and disappearing behind her own door.
Olivia watched her go, her jaw slack. When it came to Alex, she would never have the upper hand. Still, she grinned as she turned back to Mattie, who squinted towards her. "You got lipstick on your cheek," she said, pointing.
That fact only widened her grin as she helped Mattie to her feet. "Comes with the job."
Thanks Jazz, Rae, and Tues for their editing and fact-checking skills. Hope you all are still entertained :)
