Title:
All Wet
Author: Misty Flores
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's
defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across
one Maureen Johnson. PRE-RENT
Rating: M for adult situations
between two females
Notes:-)
--
Chapter 20.
So take a
look at me now
There's just an empty space
There's nothing left
here to remind me
just the memory of your face
Take a look at
me now
there's just an empty space
you coming back to me is
against the odds
and that's what i've gotta face
--
'Against All Odds' The Postal Service
--
Joanne Jefferson worked out three times a week, watched what she ate, and made sure she got six hours of sleep a night, if she could manage it. She took supplements if she felt she needed them, and every winter, she got a flu shot, despite her somewhat irrational fear of needles.
There was simply no reason for her to get sick. Ever.
Of course, up until recently, she hadn't ever made a habit of staying out in pouring rain in forty degree weather. She had never lost her temper during a meeting, and she had never put herself in a position where her entire career could hinge on a single case. She had never used someone else to get past her own emotional hang ups. She had never fallen so hard and so fast despite herself.
It was a month of remarkable firsts.
She made it to the elevator lobby of her apartment building, a rolled up ball of tissue in her hand, bloodshot eyes staring blearily out at the marble tile and the doorman shivering in his coat. Her head throbbed, like a hammer banging on her forehead as if it were a gong, and unable to breathe, she gave up.
Dizzily, she pressed the button for her floor and closed her eyes, slumping back against the elevator wall.
--
"You've reached the home of Joanne
Jefferson. I'm currently unavailable. Please leave a detailed message
and I'll return your call at my earliest convenience."
"Kitten, it's your father. I got a call from Fred Finch
this morning, and it gave me a bit of a cause for concern. I'd like
to talk to you. Call me when you can. I'd like to head off your
mother before she decides to get 'involved'. Love you, kitten."
"You've reached the home of Joanne Jefferson. I'm
currently unavailable. Please leave a detailed message and I'll
return your call at my earliest convenience." "Joanne,
it's Steve. Look, I know you're really sick, and all, but Mr. Finch
isn't exactly convinced. He's asking to set a meeting with you
tomorrow. The senior partners got wind of what happened yesterday.
I'm just saying, be prepared for some shit to go down tomorrow. It's
pretty tense here. Get better." "You've reached the
home of Joanne Jefferson. I'm currently unavailable. Please leave a
detailed message and I'll return your call at my earliest
convenience." "Joanne, what the hell did you get
yourself into? Gail called me and said you dropped your biggest case?
Nicky Lombardo is strutting around the courthouse like a friggin'
peacock and I call Steve and you called in sick? When have you ever
called in sick? That's it. I'm getting Megan and I'm coming over. And
don't think I won't. I still have your key."
--
"Joanne. Hey. Jojo."
Silk fabric nearly swallowed her head whole, and Joanne only buried herself deep into it, fingers clutching underneath the pillow, eyes clamping shut.
She shivered, going from too hot to too cold when the heavy comforter was yanked from her torso. Fingers, cool and dry, pressed against her exposed face.
"Holy shit, Cindy. She's burning up."
"What? Let me see."
She mumbled something, not sure exactly what it was, but Joanne was sure she was saying something quite mean, as she flailed at the two hands obstructing her breathing.
"What?"
"It's COLD!" she managed, slurring her words as she fumbled for the comforter, trying to dig herself in deeper to her self imposed cocoon.
"Jesus, you look like crap. What the hell happened to you?"
With awareness, came the return of the building pressure in her head. It didn't make her feel any better. Shivering, she opened her eyes to blearily take in posh versions of her friends, alive and well. She suddenly hated them for it.
"I'm sick," she snipped, trying to whisper, under the radar of her pounding headache.
Immediately, Megan sat down, rump pushing against Joanne's hip until she was forced to fall onto her back, staring dizzily up at the ceiling. When her friends cool hand once again pressed to her blazing hot forehead, she didn't have the energy to be anything but relieved.
"Keep that there for the next few hours, yeah?"
"Have you eaten?" she demanded. "Cindy, get a cold wet towel, will you?"
"Already on it," Joanne heard. "You're lucky I used to live here."
"Good, then you know where her clothes is. Get her a clean t-shirt, some shorts, and some new under… thingies."
"Your hand's hot now," Joanne said, blinking one eye open warily. "Get it off."
"How the hell did you get like this?" Megan demanded, as Cindy returned, bobbing the bed with her weight, making Joanne wince in reaction, her stomach gurgling in response.
"I was out in the rain," Joanne responded, and suddenly sighed, as a cool, wet cloth was suddenly placed on her forehead. She couldn't help but smile. "I love you."
"You were out in the rain?"
"She's not sick," Cindy said, above her, already pulling at buttons on her flannel pajamas. "She's gone insane. Quick, look for a crazy performance artist."
"Cindy? Not helping. Get that soup I brought and put it in a bowl, okay?" Joanne opened her eyes once more, taking in Megan as she took over undressing her, curling a hand underneath her shoulders and sliding the flannel off her shoulder.
Joanne tried to help, and slowly, the sluggishness began to wear off, and her senses began to perk up, as much as they were able.
"God, you're really burning up," Megan muttered, yanking the tanktop over her head, bangs coming loose from her bun thanks to her effort. "Are you on anything? Medication?"
"Don't have any."
"You do now," Megan responded, reaching inside her large Coach bag and pulling out two different bottles of medicine. "Exactly what possessed you to go out into the rain?"
Joanne hesitated, wincing as her head pulsed, taking the little pills Megan pressed into her palm gratefully. "I was looking for someone."
"Who?"
"Who do you think?" Joanne bit her lip, glancing up to discover Cindy balancing on her heels, teetering with a wooden dinner tray that held a bowl of something that actually smelled good. "Check this out."
Setting the tray on Joanne's lap, Cindy eased down onto the bed and produced a familiar looking flier. Joanne sighed and said nothing, staring at the hand drawn paper, and then down at her soup.
"That's a crappy looking flier," Megan said, but took it anyway, as she waved a perfectly manicured palm towards Joanne. "Eat. It's matzo ball chicken soup." When Cindy shot her a look, Megan only shook her head. "What?"
"You are so going to be my mother when you grow up."
"Shut up."
Joanne stared at the bowl. "You got me soup with a ball in it?"
"Eat it," Megan said again, and Joanne grimaced, digging into the quivering mound of meal. "This is for tonight."
"Mmhmm." Crossing her arms, Cindy grabbed hold of the wet towel that had slipped from Joanne's forehead, redepositing it around her neck. "What happened, honey?"
Joanne swallowed down the food, felt the warm dough making it's way down her esophagus. "Everything," she muttered. "I think I'm gonna get fired. Antonia and I broke up."
"Told you," Cindy said, almost as an aside to Megan, one hand on the comforter. "She get pissed about Maureen again?"
"No, she slept with Maureen," she answered matter-of-factly, and then yelped when Megan slapped her leg, nearly tipping the soup over. "Hey!"
"What?" Cindy stammered, grabbing hold of Megan's shoulder. "She what?"
"Yeah," she replied, over the melodrama. The soup was actually quite tasty, and somehow it made it easier. She swallowed another spoonful. "They slept with each other to get back at me, because they said I was using them and it made them feel cheap or something."
"They slept with each other? Women are mean." Megan shook her head and clucked her tongue.
"That is so incestuous." Cindy shrugged. "And kinda flattering."
"No, it sucked," Joanne said, eyes rising to offer her ex a good glare. "And I got really pissed and I went in the rain and I found Maureen and told her to leave me alone."
"Good," Cindy interrupted.
"-And she said she loved me and would have left Mark for me and that I was only in it for the sex."
Megan blinked. Cindy's eyes widened, and the two women only stared, lost in the enormity of the statement.
"…What?"
"And then she ran away and I went in the rain looking for her, and got soaked. And then I went to work and told Finch Hector didn't want to do the trial anymore, and Antonia booted me from the case and Mr. Finch sent me home, and I couldn't go to work today because I was really dizzy." Pursing her lips, Joanne stared hard into the direction of her living room. "I should check my messages."
Her friends continued to remain quiet, and when Joanne looked at them, Megan flinched and went back to reading her flier, the crinkling of the paper the only sound.
"So um… sucky couple days, huh?" Cindy finally ventured. "No wonder you didn't get out of bed today."
"I got out," Joanne corrected her, and fished around the celery for another morsel of chicken. "I just got back in."
There was yet another bout of silence, as Joanne concentrated on her disappearing Matzo ball, and the chicken broth surrounding it.
Somehow, the simple act made her deliriously happy.
"Well…" Megan's smile was tight, strained. "You know what they say. There's no place to go but up."
"I should go to work." Joanne shivered and sliced into the last of the ball with her spoon. "I need to go-"
A gentle finger on her wrist kept her from moving. "Jo…" Carefully, Megan took the tray from her lap, and Cindy smiled warmly, staying put. "You know I love you. But don't be an idiot. Okay, more of an idiot than you've already been. But you're sick. So get better, and then you can work on putting your life back together." Joanne's eyes fluttered closed when soft lips pressed against her clammy forehead, a gentle, loving caress. "Love you, Jojo. Now go to sleep."
"Cindy…"
"Sleep," came the order, and suddenly, Joanne was too tired to do much else. The cold towel was once again pressed against her forehead, making her sigh in response. Against her will, her body betrayed her, and her eyes fluttered closed once again.
--
"First kiss."
It was a simple game, and Joanne had played it before. The
game of firsts, that she and Maureen began the second night they were
together, at the beginning of that infamous weekend. Maureen
grinned, reaching forward with one strong hand to knit their fingers
together, free hand buried in her curls, holding her head up. "Jimmy
Tanner. Under the jungle gym. I was eight. Your turn."
Joanne's smile curled, and she pretended to think about it,
sliding onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. "You don't
want to know." "Yes I do!" Sliding over,
Maureen let go of her hand in favor of crawling on top of her, chin
against her collarbone. A delicious smile painted her wide mouth.
"Come on." Joanne sighed dramatically, and shook
her head in resignation. "13. Todd Berkowitz. At the movies,"
she said, and when Maureen's eyes widened, and shrugged. "You
kissed a boy?" The surprise in her tone was more glee
than anything else, and bemused, Joanne stretched her arms behind her
back, eyeing the naked woman currently sitting on top of her. "Yes.
I kissed a boy. It was even nice. But not what I thought it would
be." Maureen's brow arched, and Joanne's mouth moved into a soft
smirk. "Ultimately I realized the reason was I was thinking of
his sister when he did it." "Nice," Maureen
said, and Joanne snorted. "First time you had sex."
"Ummm…" Joanne's eyes rolled to the back of her
head, and then she shivered, as Maureen playfully bit at her nipple,
an urge to continue. "Oww." "Come on!"
"You first," Joanne said. Never one to be
shy about such things, Maureen crossed her arms over Joanne's chest,
and settled in against her. "I was sixteen. His name was Rudy.
He was more scared than I was." "Were you?"
Maureen glanced up, and Joanne studied the expression. "Scared,"
she explained, at the puzzled look. Maureen waited a moment,
face suddenly somber as she considered the question, and then buried
her cheek between two breasts, nuzzling the area. "Yeah,"
she said finally. "A little. I guess that's kinda why I did it.
I wanted to get it over with." Joanne reached forward, buried
fingers into brunette curls. "What about you?" she asked
quietly. Joanne's head fell back against the pillows, and she
stared at the ceiling, lost in the memory. "Seventeen years old.
At Miss Porter's." Maureen's browns knit together. "Boarding
school," Joanne elaborated. "In my dorm room. With Marie,
the French Diplomat's daughter." "Wow."
Joanne snorted. "Honey, when we're naked, we're all the
same." Maureen grinned, as if ready to contest that only
because she felt like being contrary. "So? Was she good?"
Joanne smiled. "Yes, she was good. As good as the first
time can be when you don't know what you're doing. It was sweet. I
was in love." The 'l' word had a somewhat sobering
affect, as Joanne remembered a blonde girl with crystal green eyes, a
smart smile and a love for dance. Maureen quieted as well, and Joanne
was blinked back into their present when the woman shifted on top of
her, curling just under her chin, releasing a small sigh. It
was a taboo word in a relationship that was purely about sex, and
Joanne didn't know why she felt the need to slide fingers through
silky hair, almost comforting. "Must have been nice."
There was a soft sort of longing, and Joanne's heart slowed
it's beat, suddenly drawn into the present, into the feel and weight
of the woman against her. Deceptively soft curls, bright green eyes,
a too wide, kissable mouth. "This is nice," she
corrected. A second, and then the figure moved, and she looked into a
serious face, gaze locking with hers intensely. When Maureen
smiled, it was the sweetest thing she had ever seen.
--
Sluggish, Joanne's fever had subsided some what when she awoke, and her headache had settled into a dull, but manageable throb. She was still sweaty, still clammy, but she seemed oddly alert, unsure as to why that was until her fingers clenched and she discovered a white flier.
Unfolding the wrinkled, abused paper, she looked at it, studied, and as her heart beat and her head throbbed.
Eyes closing, she curled into a fetal position, and considered her life.
"Fuck it," she whispered, wincing as she began to move. "Your life is already shit. Can't get any worse, and there's only one way it's going to get better."
Finding her shoes was tough, and she fumbled into a pair of jeans, and grabbed hold of her thick wool jacket, fingers slipping on her keys, heading for the door.
--
End chapter