Chapter Twenty-One
If Elizabeth Webber had to choose one word to describe her current mindset, it would be distracted, and it wasn't the innocent scatterbrained, endearing absentminded kind either. It was the kind where she went to bed at night, forgetting to set her alarm, only to wake up late the next morning and not remember what day it was or where she was supposed to be. It was the kind where she could go all day and not feel the hunger pains raging in her hollow stomach, only to be forced to eat by a concerned Jason, a Jason who had previously had to be reminded to eat by her. It was the kind of distracted where everything else in her life fell to the wayside besides her relationship with her boyfriend and the child they had in common – her schoolwork, her art, her friendships with the guards, and her connection with her grandmother. Her grades were slipping to the point where she was about to be put on academic probation, and she hadn't painted in two months, the length of time Penthouse IV had been missing its youngest resident.
To make matters worse, she just wasn't preoccupied with their court case, its ramifications upon her relationship with the man she loved, and the fact that they were both missing their son despite the almost constant visits Lila helped arrange for them; she was also troubled by the fact that she was the main obstacle standing in Jason's way of getting his little boy back home where he belonged. It was through her faults, her past mistakes, and her lack of judgment that A.J., Carly, and their high priced and well connected lawyer were able to attack Jason's parenting skills, and, for the past eight weeks since their second meeting with Alexis, she had been wondering if it was selfish for her to stay; for the past fifty-six days, she had been wondering if it would be better to do the right thing, to back out of her relationship with Jason gracefully and allow him to reclaim custody of Michael, to put their well being ahead of her own. After all, if she truly loved them, wouldn't she want them happy no matter what, even if their happiness came at the expense of her own?
So, with the privacy she got from the muted lights and the fact that Francis was still not allowed to sit beside her in her course on the history of organized crime, part two and the peace and quiet of an almost silent classroom, the professor's voice the only one dulling her concentration, Elizabeth focused on the task at hand: compiling a list of reasons as to why she should stay with Jason and comparing it to a similar list citing the reasons why she shouldn't. If nothing else, the fact that she was putting pen to paper should make her professor believe she was paying attention and taking notes, but, even if he didn't, she really didn't care.
She worked diligently, somehow managing to remain detached. If the former nanny thought about her actions too much, she would start to laugh, and then her tears of mirth would turn to those of pain and heartache. Who would have guessed two years earlier, when she was twenty and an adult then as well, that she would be in a serious, committed relationship, raising a fifteen month old little boy with a reputed mob boss, and making a list of pros and cons to help her decide whether she should stay in their lives or leave them? At that point in her life, Lizzie Webber did not make lists, she didn't consider anyone's well being or happiness beyond her own, and she certainly wasn't organized enough too categorize and arrange her emotions onto a chart. It was amazing how much falling in love and caring for a child had made her grow up.
"I'm sure Joe Massino would find this list quite amusing, Miss Webber," her professor taunted. Before she could react and hide the paper from his wandering gaze, his hand snatched it. "Seeing as how we were discussing his arrest and these are your notes about the case, perhaps the rest of the class should be privy into your insights. What do you think?"
"I think that what is written in my notebook is personal, and it should remain that way."
"But you're not sitting at home; you're not at leisure," the instructor pointed out. "You're in my class, and, here, I decide what's personal and what isn't. If nothing else," the older man chuckled, "this should be amusing. Maybe Massino would enjoy reading this little list. You could send it to him and ask for his advice. After all, the two of you do have some things in common now, don't you? Perhaps he could be a sort of mentor for you."
Before the artist could reply, Francis had moved from his assigned position by the door and was standing at her side, a protective, supportive hand resting between her shoulder blades. His touch was light, but it was enough of a gesture to give her strength and make her stand up just a little bit straighter. "I think it would be in your best interest to return Miss Webber's notebook to her," the guard suggested.
"And I think you would be wise to not threaten me again in front of an entire room of witnesses, Mr. Donovan," the teacher returned, undaunted. "It would be a shame if Detective Taggart were to get a call about this incident, wouldn't it? Or what about Mr. Ward? I'm sure he would find it interesting that one of Miss Webber's personal friends and bodyguard was harassing one of the witnesses he plans to call in the custody case for Michael Quartermaine."
"It's Michael Morgan," she hissed back at the graying man, "and what the hell do you have to do with my son?"
"Biology, Miss Webber," he returned snidely in response to her contradicting him.
"You have obviously never been a father, because, if you had, you would know it takes more than DNA and matching blood samples to be a parent. Now," she narrowed her gaze and took a step forward, fists perched furiously on her petite hips, "why are you being called as a witness in my son's custody case?"
"Mr. Ward seems to think I have testimony regarding your character that could be beneficial to his clients and their petition for sole guardianship of the child in question."
Elizabeth shook her head both out of confusion and hurt that a man she knew nothing about and who did not know her would have such a desire to insult and injure her. "What have I ever done to you to make you hate me this much?"
"You make a mockery of this class," the lecturer stated, glaring at her. "You, mob moll to the east coast's largest crime boss, come in here with your goons and their guns and your amusement at the fact that you're taking a course where you very well could be a part of the lesson plans, and you disrespect not only me but your fellow students who are on a daily basis taken advantage of by the world your boyfriend represents. That, Miss, Webber, is why I dislike you."
"So instead of pulling me aside and discussing these issues with me in private, you decide that it's best to embarrass me in front of the entire class, and, just so you know, no one else has said anything to me about the fact that my presence here bothers them."
"Why would they or I, for that matter, want to speak to you in private," the professor laughed at the very idea. "If we said anything you didn't like, one quick nod of your head towards Mr. Donovan there and we'd be at the bottom of the harbor."
"You're a hypocrite," Francis snapped at the older man. "You claim to be too afraid to talk to Elizabeth one on one, but you'll humiliate her and, in the process, piss me off by reading her personal writings out loud to an entire classroom. You might have witnesses now, but they won't stop me from finding you and kicking your ass when you're all alone. And no," he continued before the grey haired doctor could interrupt, "I don't care if you go to Taggart with that information, because, if you think a few hours of cooling my heals in an interrogation room until my lawyer can get the charges dismissed is going to persuade me to not defend my friend, then you're even more obtuse than I gave you credit for, Sir." The last word had a noticeable edge and note of disdain to it.
Ignoring the security expert's thinly veiled warning, the instructor lowered his head and started reading off her list. "The title of Miss Webber's masterpiece here is 'Should I Stay or Should I Go?'." Looking up at his student, her alabaster cheeks aflame with mortification and barely contained rage, he cruelly teased, "I had no idea you were such a Clash fan." He allowed the class a chance to snicker before he continued. "The reasons to stay are as follows: love, oh how sweet," the teacher snickered before pressing on, "family, love again, Miss Webber," he mocked, "aren't we being redundant? Friendship, security, my first real home, and love for the third time. I had no idea you were so sentimental." Ruffling the paper, he cleared his throat before moving on to the second column. "And now for the reasons as to why she should leave: to ensure that Jason gets custody of…"
Before he could finish, the twenty-two year brunette seized the notebook from his hands, closed it, and calmly put it back in her messenger bag. "Fail me, report me to the Dean, hell, you can get me kicked out of PCU for all I care, but I'm done, so you can shove your cynical comments and your stupid, fucking class where the sun doesn't shine. I'll see you in court." With that, she turned around on her heel and marched out of the classroom, a snickering and proud Francis walking a few steps behind her. Just as they reached the door though, her cell phone rang.
Taking the slim, silver device out of her purse, she checked the caller id screen before immediately flipping it open. "Alexis, is something wrong? Is it Michael?"
Every person in the room was silent as they waited and listened to her side of the conversation, apparently curious as to why the famed legal mind was phoning her client in the middle of her class.
"Well, that's because Jason had a meeting this afternoon…with an important coffee client." There was another pause while the attorney spoke, only Elizabeth hearing what the counselor had to say. "Are you serious, joint custody until the trial? This is amazing, more than we had hoped for. Of course I'll go and pick him up right now. Thank you, Alexis, and I'll call you and let you know how the transfer went as soon as Michael, Francis, and I are back at the penthouse. Talk to you soon."
Once again distracted, albeit this time by good news, the former nanny and her personal bodyguard made their way out of the classroom, her confrontation with her now former professor and the list she been making long forgotten.
"Elizabeth, Dear," Lila greeted the younger woman as she stepped into the matriarch's suite of rooms on the second floor of the Quartermaine mansion, "Michael and I weren't expecting you this soon. Miss Davis said you were in class."
"I was," she revealed, blushing at the admission, "but…something happened. Let's just say that I won't be stepping foot in that professor's classroom ever again."
"Would you like to talk about it?" Motioning towards the empty chair across from her at the tea table, Jason's grandmother invited the college student to join her in her afternoon ritual. "After our lunch date last week, I've had a taste for hot chocolate, so Cook has been making it for me." With a playful twinkle in her magical blue eyes, Lila teased, "it seems as if your bad habit is rubbing off on me."
"Chocolate can never be bad."
The older woman laughed softly. "I suppose you're right." She waited for the artist to pour herself a cup of the sweet concoction before urging her, once again, to share her story about her bad afternoon. "If you do want to talk to someone about whatever happened today, Dear, I'd be honored to listen."
"It's not that big of a deal," Elizabeth dismissed with a casual shrug of her shoulders, but the pain in her eyes conveyed the truth.
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that? Reggie's getting Michael ready to go right now, so it'll be a few minutes before you can take him home, and I do so enjoy our chats. If nothing else," the matriarch advised, "you'll be able to get it off your chest so that it won't affect the rest of your day with your son."
"I was taking this two part class," the brunette shared, "on the history of organized crime." Looking up from her mug of hot cocoa, she was surprised to see that Lila had not reacted to the admission at all. Encouraged by the older woman's acceptance, she plunged on. "The professor and I had never really gotten along, and today that became quite obvious…to the entire class. I wasn't paying attention, and he caught me, but, instead of speaking to me after class, he took my notebook, railed against me in front of everyone, and then proceeded to read my personal thoughts out loud so that everyone could hear them."
The head of the Quartermaine family tsked in annoyance. "That man, obviously, was never taught any manners. I'm sorry you had to go through that, Dear."
"Oh, it gets worse," the former nanny chuckled with little amusement. "Apparently, he's being called as a witness in the custody hearing. Carly and A.J.'s lawyer is using him as a character witness against me."
Lowering her voice to a whisper, Lila confessed, "I have always tried to find the good in everyone, but, no matter how hard I try, I cannot find one shred of decency in that woman. What my two grandsons saw in her, I'll never know."
"Oh, I do," the artist giggled, this time with genuine amusement, "but you're too much of a lady for me to say it in front of you."
The older woman winked, letting Elizabeth know that she understood what she meant, but, before either of them could say anything else, the door to the sitting room was opened and Reginald walked in with a content yet sad Michael in his arms. As soon as the little boy saw the woman he loved so much, his arms lifted and he reached out for her. The petite brunette was immediately across the room and pulling him into an embrace.
"It's good to see you again, Miss Webber," the butler greeted her.
"Reggie, please," she insisted, "how many times do I have to tell you? For you, it's Elizabeth." He nodded in acceptance but still didn't address her by her first name.
She went to kiss her son, but, as she was moving, the one year old's chubby hands touched her face, patting it out of familiarity. "Mama," he greeted her before smiling a wide grin to show off his new teeth.
Speechless, the twenty-two year old turned and faced the two other adults in the room, both of them looking pleased with themselves and smug. "What…how?"
"Michael and I both noticed how depressed you've been recently," the matriarch answered the silent questions she had found the younger woman's eyes. "We wanted to do this in an effort to cheer you up."
"Well, it worked." Finally kissing the toddler on the brow both in greeting and in thanks, Elizabeth, once again, focused her attention upon Lila. "Jason and I have him for the next three days, but I hope you'll still be coming to see us for lunch tomorrow as we planned."
"I would love to, but no more dawdling, Dear. My grandson must be anxious to see his little boy, and there's no reason for you to stay here just to keep an old lady like me entertained." Moving her chair slightly so that she was facing the butler, she asked, "will you help her out to her car, Reggie?"
"Of course," he agreed readily with a smile. "Come on," he motioned for the brunette to follow him after she had waved goodbye to the older woman. "I'll go ahead and get Michael's coat out of the closet when we get downstairs," he offered. "Trust me, you don't want to battle your way through that mess. Between Tracy and Carly, it's practically a burial ground for rabbits and minks."
"And does it smell like what I can only imagine a brothel must smell like when you first pull the door open?"
"How did you know," the butler asked, clearly amused.
Elizabeth shrugged. "My Mom liked expensive things, and we had a closet like that in our house when I was growing up."
The two shared a quiet laugh, but, just as they reached the bottom of the spiral staircase, Michael spoke up for the second time that afternoon. Pointing a tiny finger towards the partially hidden observer in the room, he said, "Babes," in an unfriendly tone.
"Who the hell told him to call me that?"
"I have no idea, Miss Benson," Reginald answered with a straight face. As soon as Carly's back was towards them, he whispered in the former nanny's ear, "I taught him that," a note of pride in his voice. "She hates it when people call her Carly Babes. Little Michael couldn't say Carly, but he sure picked up on Babes right away."
She giggled quietly while he went to fetch the toddler's coat. Together they put it on him and then, when he was ready to leave, Elizabeth bent down to pick him up. Without any warning, she stumbled slightly, a wave of dizziness passing through her.
"What's wrong there, Muffin," the now platinum blonde taunted. "You wouldn't be sick, would you, because I doubt the judge would look too favorably upon you taking care of my son when you're too dizzy to even stand up?"
"It's nothing," the younger woman dismissed. "I just haven't had lunch yet this afternoon, so my blood sugar's a little low."
"Oh, so you're saying that you're anorexic? That's not very healthy either and certainly not a good example for an impressionable child."
"Why don't you go steal something and take it to a pawn shop, Carly," Reginald sniped. Placing a guiding hand on Elizabeth's back, he helped her and Michael out of the house and towards the car where Francis and her driver were waiting.
Even after having to deal with her professor and Carly, she couldn't wipe the smile off her face. After all, their little boy was coming home. He'd be sleeping there that night, he'd wake up there the next morning, and she wouldn't have to make an appointment to see him. Even if the visit was only temporary, it was more than she and Jason had been allowed to have in two months, and that was something to celebrate.
"Tickets to a baseball game," she suggested, immediately going back to her double chocolate chunk ice cream as soon as she was finished talking.
"Nah," Jason argued, "because if we get him tickets to a game, he'll want us to go with him."
"Would that be so bad? They serve beer…in the bottle."
"I don't like crowds," he stated. "Besides, I really don't see you as a sports fan."
Elizabeth shrugged, grinning cheekily behind her ice cream cone. "I like the uniforms; they make the players' butts look nice."
He scowled at her. "Don't think that you're going to get away with a comment like that. Michael might be with us now, but he won't be later tonight."
"Oooh, I'm shaking in my boots," she taunted.
Ignoring her, the mob boss proposed, "why don't we just buy him another gun. He likes guns. They're like the his children."
"Putting aside the fact that what you just said has to be the most pathetic thing I've ever heard in my entire life, I don't want to get him a gun, because that's boring. It's something he'd buy for himself. I think we should get him a really nice watch."
"Yeah, so when he's beating someone up, it can get splattered with blood."
"Ugh, Jason, that's disgusting," the brunette complained, elbowing him in the side. "I'm trying to eat here, thank you very much. Besides," she pointed out, "he wouldn't wear it for work. It would be for good. And you know how flashy he can be, how he can get into his appearance."
Snorting, the Mafioso complained, "he's a regular peacock."
Elizabeth nodded his head, agreeing with him. "He does like to preen."
"But don't you think that a watch is a little much?"
"He's one your best friends," the former nanny contradicted him, "he's my partner in crime, and he's practically Michael's uncle. I think we can spring for a watch."
"Alright," he agreed, wrapping his free arm which was not carrying their sleeping son around her. "We'll get him a watch, but you're picking it out."
"Agreed."
They were walking through the park after having dinner together, just the three of them as a family. Although the guards were close behind, they were staying far enough back so that they were not intruding upon their private moments. Because it has been so mild out that evening, they had decided to forgo taking a car when they went out and were, at that very moment, making their way back to Harbor View Towers.
"You know, it's pretty fitting that his birthday is in March," she stated, interrupting the comfortable silence which had enveloped them for several moments. "Johnny O'Brien is the embodiment of an Irishman." Getting an idea, she turned around and started walking backwards as she continued to talk to her boyfriend. "Oh, do you know what we should do? We should break into his apartment on the day of his birthday and decorate it for him, go all out – green shamrocks, green lights, even exchange his regular beer for green beer."
He laughed, finding her excitement amusing. "You do realize that he'll kill you for touching his…"
Before his playful assertion could be finished, gunfire erupted onto the couple and their child. On instinct, Jason pushed Elizabeth down to the ground and shoved Michael into her arms, covering both of their bodies with their own. The deafening, glaring, nerve-racking sound of weapons firing lasted for less than thirty seconds, but, in that time, the mob boss had no idea which direction the assault was coming from. To him, it seemed as if they were surrounded, and that was never a good thing.
Just as quickly as the attack had started, it ended, and, by the time he was up and on his feet, first checking to make sure the two people he loved most in the world had not been hurt and then looking for clues, the guards had joined them, and all three men had puzzled expressions on their faces. They had been in the open, vulnerable, ripe for a violent strike, but, after the dust settled, no one was left with even a scratch.
Bending down, Jason picked up a bullet and immediately realized why. They were rubber; the violence had just been a warning.
"Boss," Max called out, gesturing for the blonde to join him on the other side of the clearing. "I think I found something."
Without word, the boyfriend and father took the note from his employee's hand, reading it out loud. "Next time, the bullets might be real. That wouldn't look too favorably upon your case in court, now would it, Baby Brother? I'd watch your back if I were you."
The stakes in the custody battle over Michael had just been raised. Again.
It was late by the time Jason made it to bed that night. After arriving safely back at the penthouse, he had set to work bulking up the organization's security system and bodyguard detail, making his home a virtual fortress. Worried, he entered the bedroom he shared with the woman he loved and immediately started stripping off his clothes. Although the lights were still on, her back was to him, so he was unsure if she was awake or not.
"Elizabeth?"
She responded, rolling over towards the sound of his voice, but she was sound asleep and obviously exhausted, so he wasn't going to wake her. Within moments, he was down to his boxer briefs, so he turned off the lights, climbed under the simple yet comfortable sheets, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her brow and allowing himself a moment to linger on her clean and unique scent of rose petals and snow, a scent he always associated with his girlfriend.
Taking a deep breath, Jason prepared himself for what he was about to do. It wasn't his first choice of action, but, in his opinion, it was necessary, so he would do it. He dialed the number despite it being programmed onto his cell phone, perhaps in an effort to delay the inevitable, and waited for the person on the other end to pick up. It rang twice.
"It's time. You know what you have to do."