AN: This is such a fun story to write, I'm really enjoying it. And now that I think about it, I think I'm going to submit this for the December challenge over at SD-1, so I guess that means that I've got to get to work, as there's quite a bit to go. So, in other words, that means that my updates will increase in frequency, as in, more than once every other day. Which is exciting for you and for me! I suppose I'm on sabbatical from my other story, Letters. Oh yes, and this is an enormous chapter; it just kept getting longer and longer, and I didn't have the heart to cut it down. I did manage to put off the dance bit until the next chapter though (just so you know I'm not skipping it!). Enjoy!

Chapter Four:

Again, the scene changed, showing a slightly older boy, poking around in the men's department of Macy's. He walked around, holding up different ties and looking at different shirts. Finally, he made a couple decisions and went to the dressing room to try on his choices. When he stepped out, he was wearing a dark grey suit with a blue-collared shirt and a navy tie. Standing in front of the mirror, he studied his reflection, brushing back his uncooperative curly hair, and attempting to look more professional.

The scene froze with him in this position.

What did you stop it for? asked Milo.

I want you to take a good look at that face, answered Joseph.
Milo looked confused, Who is it?

Jack Bristow, Joseph said, sighing heavily with frustration at the incompetent angel next to him.

Oh, you mean that kid who was working in the coffee shop.

That's the kid.

It's a good face. Nice hair too. I like it. I like Jack Bristow. Tell me, did he ever find a girlfriend?

Well, wait and see, said Joseph, restoring the action in the scene.

Purchasing the shirt and tie, along with a black bow tie, Jack left the store, spotting his friend Arvin who was waiting in his car across the street.

Hey, Arvin! he called over to him.

Hiya Jack!

Arvin, I'm a rich man today. How about driving me home in style?
Arvin steps out of the car, opening the door of the car, bowing, and placed Jack's purchases inside with mock ceremony.

Sure, your highness, hop in. And, for the carriage trade, I puts on my hat, he added, slipping on a New York Yankees cap.

Laughing, Jack said, My mother's going to kill you if she sees you in that hat, thinking of the fervent Red Sox fans that called themselves his parents.

As Jack moved to get in the front seat of the car, he stopped suddenly, seeing Judy walking towards him, her hips swaying, a formfitting dress clinging to her body, blonde hair pinned back with pieces of hair framing her face.

Good afternoon, Mr. Bristow, she said, breathlessly, giving him a sultry look.

Hello, Judy, Jack swallowed, Hey you look good. That's some dress you got on there.

Smiling faintly, Oh, this old thing? she said, smoothing the creases along her hips, Why, I only wear it when I don't care how I look.

Turning, Judy flaunted on down the sidewalk, clearly realizing that Jack had his eyes glued to her figure. Crossing the street, she continued to saunter, attempting to hold Jack's attention, when an older man turned his head to stare at her, nearly being hit by a car as he stood, jaw open, in the middle of the street.

Arvin stuck his head out of the window, looking at his dazed friend,

Ummm, want to...

said Jack, still staring absently down the street.

Once Jack got into the car, the men set off and drove off to a quiet area of the city, where Jack's parents, the Bristows, lived in an old brownstone house. Tradition had it that Arvin and Jack would go to the Bristows' house for dinner on Friday and Sunday nights. Arvin's parents were always off traveling in Europe, or having dinner at their country club, or were otherwise engaged, leaving their son by himself. The boy had spent most of his life in the care of nannies and other hired caregivers. As the two men became friends, Jack often invited him to his parents' house, allowing the other man to have some kind of family life. Mr. and Mrs. Bristow gladly adopted Arvin as their pseudo-son.

This Friday night, the two young men were getting ready to go to a formal at their college, which Arvin was trying to coax Jack into attending. After arriving at Jack's house, the two of them went upstairs to sort themselves out and get dressed for the dance.

Mr. Bristow walked around the first floor, fussing over the Christmas decorations he was trying to arrange. As he carried two poinsettias over to the coffee table in the living room, his wife called to him, Thomas Bristow, don't you dare put those plants in my living room!

But Mary, that's where we always put them! he said back, impatiently.

The two adults began to argue over where to put the two red poinsettias, their annual argument returning just in time for Christmas.

Suddenly, the ceiling began to vibrate and the married couple looked up, and then back down at one another. Loud sounds of banging and scuffling erupted from the second floor, where Jack and Arvin were goofing around. Mrs. Bristow sighed, and put the plants where her husband had wanted them, and turned her back to him, walking over to the stairs to yell at the boys. Thomas Bristow smirked at her back, and smoothed back his silver curls that his wife found so irresistible, following her to the stairs.

Jack! Arvin! You're shaking the house down! Stop it! shouted Mrs. Bristow.

Snaking his arm around her waist, Mr. Bristow whispered in her ear, Oh let em be. It's nice being down here alone with you.

You'll be joining them if you keep this up. Arvin'll tear his dinner suit. Jack! Mrs. Bristow called up the stairs.

If you had it your way, all children would be girls, he added, kissing her forehead, and then wandering off to the kitchen to serve himself some dinner.

That's not true, and if if they were all girls, there wouldn't be any...Oh, never mind, she muttered. Remembering the two hooligans upstairs, she yelled, Jack! Arvin! Come down to dinner this minute. Everything's getting cold and you know we've been waiting for you.

Okay, Mom, came from upstairs.

Shaking her head in frustration, Mrs. Bristow started up the stairs, Mr. Bristow, meanwhile, smiled and pushed his food around on his plate, knowing that the two boys wouldn't give up that easily. Suddenly, a loud commotion was heard on the stairs, the boys making trumpet sounds.

Down the stairs they came, holding poor Mrs. Bristow high between them on their hands. Bringing her into the dining room, Jack and Arvin deposited her gracefully into Mr. Bristow's lap.

Here's a present for you, Dad, said Jack, a knowing grin on his face, identical to the look his father had just given his mother minutes before.

Mr. Bristow leaned over and kissed her soundly on the lips, his wife shooting him a dirty look, and then kissed him back. Then she turned to the two young men, swatting the pair of them on the head, Oh, you two idiots! Jack, you take after your father! The two Bristow men looked at each other, wide grins breaking across their faces, and high-fiving each other. Rolling her eyes, she continued, Now, you and Arvin, sit down and have dinner.

I've eaten, said Arvin.

Well, aren't you going to finish dressing for your holiday formal? Look at you, Mrs. Bristow fussed.

I don't care. It's Jack's suit, he answered, wandering into the kitchen.

Friday night at the Bristows--I feel like I'm living in a sitcom, said Jack to his father, the two men laughing at the thought.

Lord have mercy! Mrs. Bristow said, This family will be the death of me!

Arvin stuck his head threw the kitchen door, Mr. Bristow, do you have any empty boxes? I'm going to take a couple things to the dance and I don't want them sliding around in the car.

What things? Mrs. Bristow asked, cutting off her husband's response, her eyebrows raising.

Oh, Mama Bristow--I'm chairman of the eats committee and we only need a couple of plates and some food.

Oh, no you don't, Arvin. Not my best china--let's get you some paper plates, she follows him into the kitchen, leaving the Bristow men at the table.

Oh, let him have the pies, Mother, called Jack.

Jack and his father sat, eating at the table together, the two men almost the mirror image of one another, except for the silver hair and slightly aged face of the older man.

Hope you have a successful time, Jack. Mom and I are going to miss you.

What'd you mean, Dad? It's only a dance, Jack said, confused.

Jonathan Bristow, don't tell me I've raised a fool, his father started, then changed directions, I know you're going on a mission this weekend.

His son's brown eyes widened.

How did you know Dad? he asked.

Jack, I work for the agency too. Remember? a tight smile found its way on Thomas Bristow's face.

said Jack. Forgot about that. He looked at his father, studying him closely, What's the matter? You look tired.

Oh, I had another tussle with Lindsay today, the older man let out a breath of hot air.

comprehension dawning on Jack's face.

I thought when I was promoted, he'd ease up on my department a little bit, said Mr. Bristow.

I wonder what's eating that old paranoid buzzard anyway? Jack mused aloud.

Oh, he's a sick man. Frustrated and sick. Sick in his mind, sick in his soul, if he has one. Hates everybody that does anything better than he can. Hates me mostly, you too, I guess, Mr. Bristow shrugged.

Jack opened his mouth to ask his father what he meant about Mr. Lindsay hating him and his father, when , Arvin and Mrs. Bristow came out of the kitchen, Arvin with a pie in each hand and balancing one on his head, while Mrs. Bristow watched him closely, torn between amusement and anxiety.

Gangway! Gangway! So long, Mr. Bristow.

So long, Arvin.

Hey Arvin, got a match? asked Jack, a solemn look on his face.

Very funny. Very funny, Arvin said, mock-glaring at his friend, who had cracked up, laughing his head off.

Put those things in the car and I'll get your tie and jacket, said Mrs. Bristow, walking back upstairs.

Okay, Mama Bristow. You coming later? You coming later, Jack?

What do you mean, and be bored to death?

Couldn't want a better death. Lots of gorgeous chicks, and you know how the girls go crazy over you, Arvin said, trying to tempt Jack.

I hope you enjoy yourself then, Jack answered, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of a dance.

I know I will; Emily's going to be there, Arvin smiled absently, thinking of his latest pursuit.

Off to the side, the air was charged with Mrs. Bristow, who had returned with a jacket and tie in her hands, glaring at her husband, trying to get him to tell the two boys something.

she whispered irritably, you promised you'd tell them about the you-know-whats.

Oh yes, remembered Mr. Bristow, Mary and the drugs. He looked up at Arvin who was blushing as Jack teased him about some girl, No drugs tonight, you two, interrupted Mr. Bristow, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes showing the insincerity behind his statement. I hate doing this, he thought.

Excuse me Dad? said Jack, an overly-dramatic look of shock on his face, are you implying that we would do something so reckless and illegal?

Arvin, his eyes wide, nodded his head, the pie wobbling, in agreement.

Boys, I'm not implying anything. You know how your mother feels about drugs, Jack, said Mr. Bristow.

Mrs. Bristow threw up her hands in frustration, Boys and girls and music. Why do they need drugs? And really, Thomas, I don't think you're helping at all.

Her husband rolled his eyes, Sorry, dear. He got up and took the pie off of Arvin's head. Let's put this stuff in your car and get those boxes, Mr. Bristow said, making a quick escape from his wife, followed by Arvin who winked and said, I'm giving you five minutes to get in the car, Jack.

Jack shook his head in amusement. He took one look at his mother, who was fuming, and made the rapid decision to dash upstairs and get dressed for the dance; it was never a wise move to stay in the presence of a fuming Mary Bristow.

Five minutes later, Jack went back down the stairs wearing a pair of khakis, a navy blazer and the blue shirt and the bow tie he had bought that day.

Mrs. Bristow, who had since sat down, looked up at the sound of footsteps, since Mr. Bristow and Arvin were outside examining his car for the hundredth time. She looked at her son and smiled, thinking to herself At least Jack has inherited his father's good looks to make up for Thomas's awful sense of humor that he also seems to have inherited.

How do I look, Mom? Jack asked, brushing the hair out of his face.

She stood up and walked over to him, fixing his hair so that the curls lay flat on his head. You look handsome, Jack. Now go get out there and save Arvin from your father.

Kissing his mother on the cheek, Jack stepped out the door, and he and Arvin drove off towards the dance.

TBC