Christine woke up with a migraine and groaned as she tasted stale vodka on her breath.
"Ugh! My head," she moaned. "Darn you, Tony!"
As she slowly edged out of bed, she vaguely remembered Harry showing up at her apartment with food...and throwing herself at him.
"Awwww, nooooo! Now what does he think of me?!"
She fell back on the bed, throwing her hand over her forehead. She peeped at her alarm clock to see that it was past one in the afternoon.
"Oh great!" she mumbled.
Thinking that Harry left, which he had every right to do after what she did last night, Christine managed to get up to go to the bathroom. As soon as she opened the door, she heard a voice that she didn't think that she would hear until she put in her transfer request.
"Good morning, Christine!" Harry checked his watch. "Oh, I'm sorry. Good afternoon! Did you sleep well?"
She turned to see Harry using her microwave. Realizing that she was half-naked, and relieved that he didn't see her immodesty, Christine scurried back to her room for her robe and came back out decent.
"Harry?" she squeaked. "You've stayed? Even after...you know."
"Don't worry about that, Christine. Orange juice?" he offered.
"Aspirins," she requested.
Harry reached into his pocket, pulled out a pill bottle, and set it on the table. "Here you go! I wanted to minimize your movements, just in case. Come over and sit."
"Uh, I need to shower and brush my teeth," said Christine, wanting to keep her distance.
"What's the rush? Take the aspirins first to settle your head, eat, and then shower. It won't kill you to do so."
Christine nodded and sat at the table. After she downed two pills with orange juice, he put a plate of scrambled eggs and toast before her from the microwave.
"I cooked them earlier, but I forgot that you might be sleeping in. I'm a half-way decent cook, you know. Enjoy!"
He smiled as he returned to scrubbing a frying pan at her kitchen sink. As she nibbled on her eggs, Christine noticed for the first time that Harry was wearing an undershirt and his hat. His arms were finely toned and she noticed the muscles rippling on his arms. She sighed as she imagined him getting dressed and putting on his judicial robe over that handsome physique of his.
"Well?"
Christine snapped out of her reverie. "Well, what?"
"How's my cooking?" asked Harry, drying the frying pan.
"It's good," nodded Christine. "I didn't think that you were that much of a cook."
"And so says the woman who nearly food poisoned the whole courthouse that one Thanksgiving, remember?"
"You don't have to remind me, Harry. I still cringe at the thought."
They laughed.
"Well, a single man has to have basic cooking skills to survive. I can't afford to eat out all the time, you know," said Harry, wiping his hands on the dish towel over his shoulder.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?" he answered, sitting next to her with his own glass of juice.
"Don't you find me the least bit... attractive?" she asked, avoiding his eyes.
"Christine, you know how I feel about you, but you also know that it'll be unethical for us to date."
"That never stopped us from kissing before," she countered, shooting him a look.
"Well, we thought that we were going to die in that fire, and the other was a mistletoe kiss," said Harry.
"Yes, but they were more than they were. Don't you think that if we try, that something good could come out of it?"
"Christine, if people were to find out about us, it could cost us our reputations, possibly our jobs. And I still have those old flakes that would still love to have me out of there."
"So that's what it's about? The Old Boys' Club riding you? I would've thought that you had forgotten all about that by now, considering that they did leave you alone."
Harry was silent, but it didn't take Christine long to figure it all out.
"This isn't about the Old Boys' Club, isn't it?"
Harry twiddled his thumbs, refusing to answer.
"Harry, is it me? If you really don't want me, just say it. At least you wouldn't be avoiding me like Tony."
"No," he answered quietly, "I do want you, but it wouldn't work out."
"Why do you say that?" she asked, puzzled.
"Because you don't like Mel Torme, but I do. You like Barry Manilow, I don't. You're into the lives of Charles and Di, and I don't care. I'm looking for every Houdini memorabilia that I can get my hands on, and like everyone else, you can care less. It just wouldn't work out, okay, so let's just forget about it."
"Harry, just because we have different interests doesn't mean that we're incompatible. I like magic, and Mel Torme did grow on me a little. We had a great time at a couple of concerts, didn't we?"
"You're were just humoring me," said Harry.
"No, I was not. I wouldn't sit through a concert of a singer I couldn't stand just to humor anyone. I like being around you, Harry. Even if I don't get all of your jokes, I love your presence. If you would've come to me first before Tony, I wouldn't have humiliated myself as I had. I think we could be good together if you gave it a chance. Harry, please give us a chance."
Christine's hand covered his, but Harry pulled away as though it burned him.
"I have to go, Christine. Um, the take-out I brought over is in your fridge. And, don't worry about coming in tonight. Take all the time you need."
He quickly dressed and left Christine, in her humiliation, once more.
After the court session ended that evening, Harry sat in his office, with his earphones settled around his neck, and his back to the door. He did it again to Christine. He left her hanging when she really needed him. Or rather, he rejected her love when she offered it. Why would he do that? It was right there for him to take, and he ran out on her. He failed her. He failed himself. Christine may be the last woman with whom he would ever have had a chance. And now, he feared that he'd ruined it for good.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
"Yeah?" Harry called.
"Sir, it's Mac. I have some forms for you to sign," said the voice.
"Come in, Mac."
Mac entered the judges' chambers. He immediately caught on that something was bothering Harry.
"Sir?"
"Just leave them on the desk, Mac. I'll have them ready before I leave."
Mac closed the door and walked back to the desk.
"Harry? Something wrong?"
Harry spun around to face his clerk with that boyish, hurt look on his face. "I'm a big weeny!"
"Aww, sir! Did you get into an argument with that paperboy again over music?" asked Mac, shaking his head with his arms folded.
"Nope. And that kid just doesn't know good music!" argued Harry. "Last night, I went to check on Christine to make sure that she was okay and bought her some take-out."
"Doesn't she have the flu?" asked Mac.
"No. She called in sick, but she was reeling from being dumped by Detective Guiliano. And worse than that, she nearly downed a whole bottle of vodka. I tried talking to her, but then she threw herself at me and... and..."
"And what?" asked Mac, drawn into the story.
"And I... well, I-"
"Oh, sir! You didn't!" exclaimed Mac, disgusted.
"No, no, Mac! Not at all! I would never do that to Christine. It's just the way that I let her down. I rejected her in her drunken state, and I did it again when she was recovering from her hangover."
"How you'd do that?" inquired Mac.
Harry explained to Mac what he and Christine discussed, concerning a possible relationship. Mac considered everything Harry told him.
"Yep, you were right before, sir. You are a big weeny."
"But wasn't I right to say no, Mac?"
"Well, sir, you did right by not taking advantage of her when she was intoxicated, but I can say this: you and Christine are the geekiest people I've ever known. Yes, you got your differences, but at the same time, you do complement each other."
"How?" questioned Harry.
Mac heaved a big sigh. "Christine's uptight. You're the fun-lovin' prankster. She dresses up for court. You wear jeans and a colorful tie. She loves china tea sets with pictures of Charles and Diana on them. You love rubber chickens and magic tricks. In other words, go get her, tiger! That is, sober."
"Very funny, Mac. But what about ethics?"
"What about them? Some people would say that a judge who treats his courtroom like a game show is unethical. Others would say that a judge who shoots rubber arrows at the assistant district attorney is unethical. Or what about a guy who stood on a ledge, half-naked when his lady friend threw his clothes out the window-"
"I get it, Mac! You know, ever since she started seeing that Detective Guiliano, I couldn't help but wonder why I didn't step in before she even set eyes on him. But of course, ethics! And you know what, Mac? You're right! I've survived the judicial review board, and Christine and I will survive whatever comes. Stay where you are, partner! I'm gonna sign these forms and ride by moonlight to my fair maiden's apartment."
"Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" praised Mac. "And sir?"
"Yeah?"
"You can't sign with that silly straw."
Harry laughed at himself as he put his silly straw back into his soda bottle and picked up an ink pen and went to work.
