Radha was just tossing back the last gulp of coffee in her mug when she saw
it: a crimson crush of red roses, a bright bouquet sitting amid the pile of
papers on the desk.
She quickly bent over and rustled the tissue paper, untying the silky ribbons. The little card was taped to the back of the bundle of flowers; she tore it off and held it up to the light. "To the loveliest girl in the world, with my best and fondest wishes--Brad Pitt?"
Eames came up behind her, still in her coat and scarf as she rummaged through her bag. "Where--huh? Radha, what are you--wait, what are those?" She pointed to the bouquet, confusion written all over her face.
"Nice try, Alex." Radha replaced the roses back on Eames's desk with a smug grin. "You know, I bet you're just jealous."
"Jealous? Of Johnston?" Eames raised both eyebrows. "He calls my partner 'Gore Gore'!"
"Shut up!" Radha interrupted her instantly, her cheeks flushing pink. "I think it's... I think it's cute. I like it. It's... um, it's sweet, and... stop it! It's not funny! You're just jealous and now you're being mean about it!" And off she stormed in a sulk, tossing her white china mug into the garbage with a muffled thud.
Eames was still giggling quietly to herself when she found her car keys, after an intense search of her pockets, black leather bag, and desk drawers, ten minutes later. Goren came in, did a double take, and burst into a hearty laugh: "Brad Pitt?"
"Oh, yes," she simpered, clutching a rose to her heart melodramatically. "It was such a beautiful romance, but--" a prolonged, deep sigh, "--we just weren't meant to be together."
***
Brad Pitt apparently had other ideas.
The next afternoon Eames clumped up to her apartment, squelching through trails of wet snow and slush on the stairs. She emerged into the third- floor hallway and stopped short, stunned by the sight in front of her.
The hallway outside her door was lushly carpeted with flowers--fragrant drifts of soft pink petals as high as her knees. She floundered awkwardly through masses of tissue paper and ribbons as she stooped down, gathering bouquets into her arms in a vain attempt to clear the hallway.
"What the--?" Her next door neighbour, a short, balding man in his late sixties, trundled outside to view the mess with his bathrobe and slippers still on. "Alex, what have you done this time?"
"Nothing," Eames called back cheerfully, shoving open her front door with a loud thud. "You want one?"
"No, thanks," he mumbled, shaking his head and wandering back inside to his newspaper and scrambled eggs.
***
The actor was even more amorous the next day, sending dozens of golden roses to be stacked outside Eames's doorstep. The detective shook her head as she read the tiny white cards, tearing them to shreds and tossing them into the garbage; save for three small bundles, the flowers were all carted out to the dumpster before she drove off to work.
"How's the plan going?" Goren asked, passing her a cup of coffee, when Eames joined him at their desk.
"I think it's time to pay the guys at Johnston's website a visit," she answered with a smile, lifting her cup to him in a silent salute and picking up a pen.
***
She quickly bent over and rustled the tissue paper, untying the silky ribbons. The little card was taped to the back of the bundle of flowers; she tore it off and held it up to the light. "To the loveliest girl in the world, with my best and fondest wishes--Brad Pitt?"
Eames came up behind her, still in her coat and scarf as she rummaged through her bag. "Where--huh? Radha, what are you--wait, what are those?" She pointed to the bouquet, confusion written all over her face.
"Nice try, Alex." Radha replaced the roses back on Eames's desk with a smug grin. "You know, I bet you're just jealous."
"Jealous? Of Johnston?" Eames raised both eyebrows. "He calls my partner 'Gore Gore'!"
"Shut up!" Radha interrupted her instantly, her cheeks flushing pink. "I think it's... I think it's cute. I like it. It's... um, it's sweet, and... stop it! It's not funny! You're just jealous and now you're being mean about it!" And off she stormed in a sulk, tossing her white china mug into the garbage with a muffled thud.
Eames was still giggling quietly to herself when she found her car keys, after an intense search of her pockets, black leather bag, and desk drawers, ten minutes later. Goren came in, did a double take, and burst into a hearty laugh: "Brad Pitt?"
"Oh, yes," she simpered, clutching a rose to her heart melodramatically. "It was such a beautiful romance, but--" a prolonged, deep sigh, "--we just weren't meant to be together."
***
Brad Pitt apparently had other ideas.
The next afternoon Eames clumped up to her apartment, squelching through trails of wet snow and slush on the stairs. She emerged into the third- floor hallway and stopped short, stunned by the sight in front of her.
The hallway outside her door was lushly carpeted with flowers--fragrant drifts of soft pink petals as high as her knees. She floundered awkwardly through masses of tissue paper and ribbons as she stooped down, gathering bouquets into her arms in a vain attempt to clear the hallway.
"What the--?" Her next door neighbour, a short, balding man in his late sixties, trundled outside to view the mess with his bathrobe and slippers still on. "Alex, what have you done this time?"
"Nothing," Eames called back cheerfully, shoving open her front door with a loud thud. "You want one?"
"No, thanks," he mumbled, shaking his head and wandering back inside to his newspaper and scrambled eggs.
***
The actor was even more amorous the next day, sending dozens of golden roses to be stacked outside Eames's doorstep. The detective shook her head as she read the tiny white cards, tearing them to shreds and tossing them into the garbage; save for three small bundles, the flowers were all carted out to the dumpster before she drove off to work.
"How's the plan going?" Goren asked, passing her a cup of coffee, when Eames joined him at their desk.
"I think it's time to pay the guys at Johnston's website a visit," she answered with a smile, lifting her cup to him in a silent salute and picking up a pen.
***
