Christine Sullivan read over the same case file for what seems like the fifteenth time.

"Oh great. Another assault case. And due to a breach of promise. Well, you and me both, sister!" she grumbled.

For the ninth time in two weeks, Christine's date with Detective Tony Guiliano was cancelled for yet another undercover stakeout. Before she came to work, Christine complained once again to Tony that he did not have to volunteer for every stakeout that there was. But Tony rebutted that he was getting close to nabbing a guy with mob ties, and that he had to use every opportunity to take him down. Frustrated, Christine chugged down the last of her Earl Grey tea and slammed her Diana and Charles mug on her desk. She looked at the clock. Part two of the Manhattan Court session was going to start in fifteen minutes.

"Well, I've better get going. Time to focus, Christine. Let's get through this court session without thinking of Detective Guiliano," she said, grabbing her briefcase to head for the courtroom.

Christine didn't know what went wrong. In the beginning, she was disgusted by Tony's crude manner and undercover disguises that made her recoil. But after that first kiss, everything changed. Christine craved more of that man. She dated men who were as conservative or as seemingly conservative as she was, but they all turned out wrong for her. And then, there was the most unlikely suitor: Detective Tony Guiliano.

On the dinner dates that they had, usually at an all-night diner, Tony would tell Christine of his numerous undercover adventures. She was taken by his bravery and prowess, and hung on to his every word of danger and intrigue in the seediest parts of Manhattan. Finally, his stories would turn her on, leading the odd couple to take the rest of their nights back to her place for some "undercover" adventures of their own.

But now, Christine barely saw Tony. They stopped having their late-night dinners, and only managed to see each other when he was off duty. And now, after making reservations for this Italian restaurant that she wanted to take him to, he cancelled on her, telling her he'll grab a sandwich in between the undercover job. Christine thought that she was getting the man of her dreams. He was the kind of man whom she read about in her romance novels: tall, dark, handsome, with long, wavy dark hair, adventurous, and always with a sense of danger about him. But unlike in her novels, the hero didn't whisk her away to a happily ever after. Instead, he abandoned her for more adventures. What luck can a girl have when a dream like that fizzles! If only a certain tall, brown-haired, lanky judge, who was not her superior and colleague...Christine shook that thought away as she stepped off the elevator.


"Now, while I do appreciate charitable acts, I think it's safe to say that practiceng... an 'oratory' in the alley for 'donations' does not qualify as philanthropy," stated Judge Harry Stone, as the prostitute stood before him, popping her gum.

"One hundred dollar fine and time served," ruled Harry, with a bang of his gavel. "Mac, who's next in the winner's circle?"

"The People versus Myra Dobson, Your Honor. Arrested for disturbing the peace and assault at a local eatery," announced the court clerk, Mac Robinson.

Bailiff Bull Shannon escorted the middle-aged, full-figured woman to the bench.

"What's the trouble, Mr. Prosecutor? Someone fingered the other one's sandwich? Get it? Finger? Sandwich?" joked the judge.

No one laughed.

"Your Honor," began Assistant District Attorney Dan Fielding, "the defendant stabbed her former fiancé, a Mr. Harvey Turnbald, with a fork after breaking off their engagement."

"He promised to marry me, but he dumped me for some skinny blonde with braces!" exclaimed the defendant.

"Ms. Dobson, let your public defender speak for you," directed Harry. "Ms. Sullivan?"

"Your Honor, my client was promised by Mr. Turnbald that they would marry once he settled his mother's funeral arrangements. He reneged on his promise, which caused my client to temporarily be in an 'unsettled state of mind'."

"Is Mr. Turnbald present?" asked Harry.

"Right here, Your Honor," said the balding, middle-age, heavyset man approaching the bench.

When he saw Ms. Dobson, he stood as close to Dan as possible, making Dan's nose winkle at the victim's cheap cologne.

"And you know what, sir?" continued Mr. Turnbald, "'Unstable' does not even cover it. And now I got four pick holes in the back of my hand!" said the injured party, holding up his bandaged hand.

"I see, Mr. Turnbald," said Harry. "I also extend my condolences. When did your mother pass?"

Mr. Turnbald answered, "Twenty years ago."

Everybody's mouths dropped.

"Twenty years ago, sir?" questioned Harry.

"I was on a payment plan for her hedge stone, Your Honor," explained Mr. Turnbald.

"And now?"

"I just made the final payments today, but along the years, I fell in love with the funeral director's daughter."

"The skinny blonde with buck teeth," spat Ms. Dobson.

"Enough, Ms. Dobson! Now, how did we get to the fork incident?" asked the judge.

"Well," began Mr. Turnbald, "I thought that I would take Myra to our favorite restaurant to tell her about Cindy. That's the funeral director's daughter, by the way. I thought that Myra would understand, but apparently, she just can't see that I fell in love with someone else. If I knew that she was going to stab me, I would have taken her to a place without silverware. Like the Bronx Zoo or something."

"I would had found a way to push you into the lion's den, you scum!" shouted Ms. Dobson.

"And that's why I'm marrying somebody else, Myra! At least she's nicer to me and is not a shrew," countered Mr. Turnbald.

"At least I can pass for a grown woman and not a kindergarten!" roared the defendant.

"Order in the court," declared Harry, banging his gavel. "Now, Ms. Dobson, however distressing this is for you, stabbing a man with a fork is uncalled for."

"'Uncalled for,' Your Honor?" snorted Christine. "It's just like you men to say that when you don't want to be bothered with a decent, and somewhat conservative, lady who has plenty of love and fidelity to give, just for some ingrate to show up and say, 'Hey Sullivan! I can't make it tonight. The Santinis are meeting with the Taratinos at Oglio's tonight, and I got to play busboy. Maybe some other time, huh?'"

"Ten-minute recess! And Ms. Sullivan? My chambers. Now!" said the annoyed judge.

Ms. Dobson turned to Christine. "Wow! You sound like you got it worse than me. But you know what, honey? Maybe if you loosen a few buttons at the top, you might just get somewhere with your guy."

"Listen to her, Christine," said Dan, staring lecherously. "She's making more sense now than she did with a fork in her hand."

Myra Dobson gave Dan a murderous look. "Keep talking, fathead, or I'll show you where else I can shove a fork!"

"Ms. Sullivan!" called Harry, impatiently.

Christine sighed and stormed off to Harry's chambers.


"Christine, what the heck was that all about?"

If Harry was a curmudgeon, sixty-something-year-old, conservative instead of a baby-faced, thirty-something-year-old, playful, Mel Torme-loving liberal, Christine would be shaking in her heels. But then again, who would tremble before a judge who has a dartboard on his wall, a poster of Jean Harlow, and a mini fridge with peanut butter and Kool-Aid?

"I apologize for my rant, Your Honor," said Christine, solemnly seated on Harry's leather couch. "I've just been having a rotten day."

Harry sighed and leaned on his desk, arms folded, studying the lovely, but troubled, public defender. He saw her outbursts before and counseled her, but this time, something was different. Especially since he suspected that it involved a certain detective that Harry privately envied.

"Come on, Christine. It's Harry. If something's bothering you, I'd like to know what it is so I can help. And I'm going to guess that it's a Detective Guiliano problem, isn't it?"

"Wasn't it obvious, Einstein?" she snapped.

Harry shrugged off her insult, but Christine knew that she shouldn't take her frustrations out on the guy who's been a constant dear friend to her.

"Look, Harry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off. Or to behave unprofessionally in court. It's just...it's just that Tony cancelled our date for the ninth time in a row."

"The ninth time?!" exclaimed Harry. "Oh, Christine! I'm sorry."

"Well, we tried talking about it while we evaluated our relationship, but nothing changed. He would rather huddle in a dumpster and bus tables around gangsters than to spend time with me!"

"First thing, Christine: it's Tony's job to be a bum in a dumpster or a busboy to nab the bad guys. Second: you evaluate your relationships? Who does that?!"

"It's a way to keep our relationship intact. It's helpful to see the areas we excel in, and the areas we need improvement."

Harry was going to debate that idea, but quickly changed his mind. "Christine, I understand that you want your relationship with Tony to work out, but you can't blame him for being dedicated to his work. You have to be patient with him."

"Harry, I've tried to be patient with Tony, but he's not willing to compromise. It's always like that with you men. You never want to compromise; you want things to always go your way-"

"Now wait a minute, Christine," objected Harry. "I've met and dated some stubborn women who insisted on having things their way, and I can tell ya, it's no picnic."

Christine sighed. "Maybe you're right. And maybe you're right about being patient with him. I just have to be more understanding concerning his work, that's all. And everything will be fine. No, Tony and I will be fine. Yes, we will be fine."

Harry smiled. Christine always loved Harry's smile, and the way that that mole at the corner of his mouth made his smile more appealing. But what was she thinking? She can't think of Harry like that! They're colleagues, and it would be unethical for them to get into a relationship. Sadly, she has always known that.

"That's the spirit, Christine! Now, let's go back to the courtroom and...somehow straighten out the Dobson case, huh?"

"Okay. Thanks for listening, Harry."

"Hey, that's what friends are for! Now let's go, champ!"

Christine flashed a smile at Harry as they exited his chambers. Harry caught sight of her shapely, stockinged legs and regretted the advice he gave her. He and Christine were perfect for each other. He knew that they were quirky in their own way, but they respected each other for it, even if her obsession with Prince Charles and Princess Diana had creeped him out a little, and his corny jokes and magic tricks often put her off.

If only he was like Dan when it came to Christine. Dan never gave a single thought about ethics when it came to flirting with everything in heels and a skirt that walked into the courthouse, and Christine was no exception. Dan almost had his chance to sleep with her in return for saving her life at one point although Harry disapproved. If it were Harry instead who saved her from choking to death, would Christine had considered sleeping with him?

If he wanted to, Harry could have had his way with some of the women he came across during the work week, just by using his position as a municipal court judge to get a date. He didn't have as much power as a Supreme Court judge, but he was sure that the ladies would have been glad to go out with him. But ethically, and morally, he couldn't do that. It wouldn't feel right to him. Occasionally, Harry would captivate a date with his courtroom stories until the women abandoned him for telling a corny joke. At least Christine stuck around afterwards. Well, sometimes she stuck around. He wanted them to like him for him. Good old Harry Stone who's sweet, loving, kind, and... who longed for his public defender.

"Yeah, right," he murmured, ready for Bull to announce him back.