A/N: Thank you for all the kind reviews! I am feeling a lot better now, not completely cured but fairing better than most... It's amazing what insomnia and dealing with a stupid cold could do for one's imagination... Where am I getting this inspiration to write such long chapters? LOL This is really unlike me... Okay, if you've been waiting for me to include the Cuteboy persona... your patience has actually paid off in this chapter! I just couldn't hold him captive in my secret hidden closet any longer. Not to mention that this current Friday is a CBG rerun *giggles* However, I'm slightly warning you right now that you'll probably hate how I'm using him. However, it shall serve a greater purpose! So enjoy!
Chapter Eight: Jr. Detective Joan Giradi
She had been up all night. Up all night wondering and worrying about the last person on earth she could've imagined feeling this way towards: Gavin Price. Joan Giradi wasn't stupid. She had gotten God's implication concerning the "errand" and definition of "family". However, she couldn't help but wonder if there was anything more that she can do.
It would be much simpler if she approached Price, befriended him, and let him know that he wasn't going to go through this alone... but Joan couldn't let go of the fact that he would be better off with his real family. With his son. She had thought about what it must be like for Mr. Price, placing herself in his shoes, and she became more convinced, if not just protective of him, that he truly needed his son.
If there were any attributes of Will Giradi that Joan herself had acquired, it was his stubbornness, his drive, and more to the point: His investigation skills. It was a trait that Joan never knew she had until she found herself at twelve-thirty in the morning, online, searching for the phone number for the New York Times.
She had a plan. At least the best laid plan that she could come up with given her lack of resources and it being a last minute thing. Joan knew that she couldn't talk to the former Mrs. Gavin Price, for fear of her plea falling on deaf ears. Instead, Joan opted to talk to Andrew Price himself. From there, Andrew could maybe talk to his mother. Joan believed that most kids are usually the best arguers. Plus she was hoping that Andrew had the same drive, like Mr. Price has often showcased, to get what he wants... like father like son.
It was dawning on two in the morning and Joan knew that she was driving herself insane looking up contact numbers. The closest contact information that she could acquire from the internet, off all places with such vast resources, was e-mail addresses. Moments like this often gave Joan the displeasure of wishing that she was computer savvy as, say, Friedman.
She had stumbled upon, not to mention by process of elimination, Mr. Price's ex-wife's byline: Jaime Dawson. There was only one "Jaime" that had a NY Times article bylines... so Joan had hoped that this "Jaime Dawson" was the journalist she was looking for.
That was when another idea dawned on her. "Kevin." Joan whispered, glancing from her opened door towards Kevin's room, which was closed. As quickly as possible, Joan jumped into bed, forcing herself to get a good night's rest. She would need it just to catch up with Kevin at work, the Arcadia Herald, and maybe-- just maybe-- have him look up the information that she needed. As she closed her eyes, another idea formed in her already half-asleep brain: Kevin had enough resources to find out Jaime Dawson's contact numbers, that includes her home phone number.
JoA~~JoA
At nearly fifteen minutes after eleven o'clock in the morning, Joan Giradi slipped out past her brother, Luke, who was busy in the kitchen eating lunch and going over chemistry reports. Earlier that morning, Helen had attempted to wake Joan up before she herself headed to school. She had given up on waking her ever non-morning person daughter after Joan's fourth restless grumble. As she left for work, she wondered what Joan was doing last night... if only she knew...
It was nearly quarter to twelve when Joan entered the Arcadia Herald building. She was tired, she was hungry, but those two factors alone were nothing compared to her current state of determination. It would literally take an act of God to stop her.
Her eyes scanned the busy news room until they firmly landed on a familiar hunched form typing away on the computer. She stood tall, placed on her most sweetest, innocent smile, and strolled on over to big brother.
"Hey!"
Kevin Giradi glanced up, startled by the appearance of his baby sister. Confusion shone in his eyes as he regarded her, "Joan?"
She gave him her most charming smile, one which caused Kevin's eyes to slant cautiously at her. "Hey, Kev. You left for work early without me having a chance to say good-bye." Her eyes glanced around the room, feigning awe, "Wow! So this is where the magic happens?"
Obviously not buying into her act, "Joan, I was born three years before your butt graced this planet. Which means that I wasn't born yesterday. What's the deal? Why are you here?"
Not giving up her innocent routine, "Can't a baby sister visit her favorite older brother at his place of business?"
His eyes spoke volumes as they stared down at her, despite the fact that he was looking up. He continued his scrutinizing, holding his gaze, until Joan eventually faltered. Indicating towards the empty chair next to his desk, "Sit."
"Fine." She stubbornly replied, crossing her arms. Once seated, "Y'know, I've always wanted to visit you at work. And when I do, you're making it out like I'm about to commit some kind of crime!"
With raised eyebrows, "Are you?"
"No!" Joan stared, stunned. However, "No. Not... not really. I don't think so..."
Kevin pushed back from his desk, crossing his arms and slipping into what Joan could only recognize as his "big brother interrogation" mode. Staring down at her, "Start talking, squirt. Don't make me call in the big guns known as 'mom and dad.'"
Now startled herself, "No! Kevin, you don't need to bring the parental units into this."
"Then start talking, Joan. And avoid the flattery routine, it'll only make it much worst."
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips, "Fine. I just need a small, teeny tiny, macroscopic--"
"Don't you mean microscopic?"
"Huh?"
He shook his head, "Never mind. Go on..."
Joan sighed again, "Kevin, I just need a favor. It's not even something big like, I don't know, getting me backstage passes for any rock concerts... which, by the way, did you know that Pink will actually be gracing Arcadia two months from now--"
"Joan!" Kevin more than gladly interrupted her. "Get. To. The point."
"I need to know the home phone number for a journalist by the name of Jaime Dawson."
He gave her a confused look, "Excuse me?"
Biting her lower lip before explaining, "Jaime Dawson. She's a photojournalist for the New York Times and I need to contact her. I need to find out her phone number, like, right away. And when I mean 'right away', I mean, like, today."
"Why?"
"Do I need a reason?" She asked him meekly.
"Well, if it's going to possibly result in some kind of, say, lawsuit, that could otherwise get me fired or, worst, in jail..."
"Since when did it become a crime to want to track down and talk to a highly regarded journalist for the Times?"
"Here's the thing, Joan, there's this creepy little activity called 'stalking'... you might want to look into its definition."
Joan opened her mouth, about to defend herself when Kevin's boss, Rebecca Askew, approached them. "Hey, what's going on here?" She smiled at Joan, who gave a timid 'hello' wave.
"Oh, Rebecca, you remember my sister, Joan, right?"
"Yes, of course. How're you doing, Joan? Came to check out your brother's workplace?"
Kevin gave a mischievous grin Joan's way, "Yeah, she came to, uh, what did you call it, Joan? To check out 'where the magic happens'?"
Joan glared, which Rebecca caught and bit her lip to refrain from laughing. Obviously she had stumbled upon the two Giradi siblings having a not too amicable conversation. "Really?"
"Rebecca," Joan sat up, deciding to take a chance and realizing that she wouldn't get the help she needed from Kevin. "Actually, I'm here because I need help in the research department." Casting a glare at her brother, "And since my oh so helpful big brother would rather mock me than help out, maybe you could. Help me out, that is."
Rebecca leaned back on Kevin's desk, crossing her arms, "Sure, Joan. I'll certainly try, though your brother's initial job over here is that of fact checker. Researching should have become a forte' of his."
"Joan," Kevin's stared at her, both his voice and gaze filled with warning, "I don't think you should be asking--"
Ignoring him, "Do you happen to know a Jaime Dawson? She's a journalist for--"
"The New York Times?"
Smiling excitedly, "Yes! That's her."
Rebecca nodded, "Yeah, I know her. Whenever I was invited to attend particular news conferences held in New York, she would be there. She's a really nice person and has this amazing eye for detail in her work."
"Does she have any children?" Joan had to ask, had to be sure that this was the same Jaime that she was searching for.
Kevin wasn't the only one thrown off by her question. "Well... I think so. Um... yes, we actually had lunch together one day and I believe she mentioned that she has a son that was interested in pursuing a similar career. In fact," Rebecca mused, "Joan, I think he's about your age. Maybe older."
Now it was Joan's turn to be surprised. "Really?"
"Joan," Kevin interrupted the conversation. "Why are you so interested in Jaime Dawson?"
Joan glanced from Kevin to Rebecca, debating on whether or not to just tell them the truth. A flighty excuse seemed more reliable when she was hit with a conscious wave in the form of God's question: "Would it really bother you if everyone found out that you had visited Price in the hospital?" She recalled her conversation with him yesterday and once again cursed the fact that He was becoming her Jiminy Cricket.
"Joan?" Rebecca regarded her, concerned.
Finally, deciding to bite the bullet, sighing, "Because... I have a feeling that Jaime Dawson was once married to my high school VP, Mr. Price. And that Jaime's son is Mr. Price's son. Not to sound like some soap plot line, but I wanted to contact his son to let him know that his dad is in the hospital. Mr. Price needs support and-- I don't know! I wanted to help and I figured that he needs their support instead of just his students..." Allowing a groan to escape her lips, "This really does sound like some twisted soap opera! But... basically, I can't give him the kind of comfort that he really needs from his family!"
Rebecca and Kevin exchanged a confused, worried look. Kevin had no idea what to make of Joan's explanation. Rebecca looked over the young woman, giving her a small smile, before standing up and heading towards her office. She promptly returned, holding an rolodex card to Joan. "Here you go, Joan. This is Jaime Dawson's cell phone number and e-mail address. There's also her home address if it'll help you much."
She gave Rebecca a grateful smile as she took hold of the card, "Thank you. May I use your copier machine?"
"Sure." Rebecca nodded. As Joan walked away, she called out to her, "Joan?"
"Yeah?"
Giving the young woman a comforting, admirable smile, "I think that in your own way, you are giving him the support that he needs."
Joan beamed up at Rebecca, "Thank you." To Kevin, "I like her. She's a keeper."
Kevin glared at Joan, though a blush began to rise on his cheeks. He glanced over at Rebecca, who placed a hand over her mouth to refrain from laughing. Timidly, "She talks a lot yet doesn't know what she's saying herself half the time..."
"I heard that!"
JoA~~JoA
Joan exited the newspaper building, anxious to call up the New York operators and ask for the number that goes with Jaime Dawson's address. For a brief moment, she grinned proudly at how smoothly her plan was playing out... which is why she wasn't too surprised when she ran into God again.
In a voice, with a form, that she knew only too well, "If you had placed merely half of your current state of determination towards your school work, you wouldn't be an average C-plus student, Joan."
She turned around and an exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Placing her hands on her hips as she glared at God, in the familiar form of the handsome young man in the same corduroy jacket, "What's with the multiple apearances in less than a week? You hardly talk to me for how many weeks and now... Why am I not surprised that you'd try to stop me?"
He had been leaning against the side of the building, as if waiting for Joan's exit. Casting her with an all too familiar smirk, "I don't intervene in human affairs. That would be taking away your free-will. And we all know how much humanity thrives on it."
Unable to resist taunting him, she held up the photocopy of Jaime Dawson's address. "Well, then this is me thriving on your beloved innovation."
God nodded in agreement. "If that's what you want." He walked towards her, indicating northbound. "If not, take a walk with me."
She shook her head, indicating towards the nearest phone booth that was not only in the opposite direction, but was on the other side of the road. "Can't. I have to make a phone call, remember?"
"I know." Still indicating north, "Did'ja know that the hospital is in that direction, Joan? I suggest--"
At the mere mention of the word 'suggest', Joan inwardly groaned, "Y'know, you're right. I do feel a lot safer being pissed at you while you look like this. God, I know all your suggestions! But can I make one of my own right now?" Realizing that He was going to calmly, as usual, regard her frustrations, "I suggest you let me carry my plan out. And if it turns out to be a big fat mistake, like you probably already saw coming, then at least I can sleep knowing that I made it on my own. But the thing is, I know it's going to work out okay!"
"Are you positive that it will?"
Angrily, "Yes! Because no matter what you say, we both know that Price is a lot better off with his son by his bedside than me. And it's possible for that to actually happen! All it'll take is one. Phone. Call." As if making a point, she turned and headed across the street.
Part of her had hoped that the Being That Was All About Hints would actually take a hint Himself, but realized that it was a fruitless gesture once God followed her across the road.
"You're not going to stop me." She stated with more resolution than ever.
God jogged up to catch up with her, falling in step with her strides. "You're right. I'm not going to, Joan."
"Good."
"I just had hoped you'd have a little more faith in me. In knowing that things will work out. Haven't I made it clear before that though you might not see the whole picture at first, that the end result will benefit you and everyone else around."
This had caused Joan to stop in mid-step just a few feet away from the telephone booth. They stood, facing each other, in front of an internet cafe. Not knowing whether to be annoyed or just plain tired, "Do you always have to do that? You don't come right out and intervene, yet you just say these things that otherwise leaves me no choice but to listen to you!"
"Joan, you don't have to listen to me. You don't even have to do what I ask."
"No, but you actually expect me to have faith in you? To trust you?"
"Joan? Question..."
Scoffing, "One of many, I suppose."
Casting her a smirk before continuing, "Your parents. Do you listen to them all the time? Do you do every thing that they ask of you?"
"Why do you ask me questions that you know the answers to?" She sighed, "I do listen to them, and I do what they ask..." Somewhat sheepishly, "But not all the time."
"Do you trust them? Do you have faith in them?"
As if answering a stupid question, "Yes."
God raised an eyebrow, giving her a knowing look. He continued to stare at her the same unwavering gaze that Kevin had given earlier until she finally faltered.
"Okay!" Casting him a weary glare, "You made your point!"
JoA~~JoA
Unknown to Joan, right across the street from where they were standing, was an arts and craft store. A young couple began exiting from the store, just as God was making His point.
Adam Rove wasn't exactly in the best mood. He had waited up all night, waiting for that one phone call that wasn't exactly promised, but still meant more to him in receiving. The worst thing about waiting for Joan's call was all the conflicted emotions he was beginning to feel. Adam began to doubt that Jane would call, then began to feel guilty in doubting her, eventually he started to worry about her, then started to question her and their "relationship" to the point of him becoming angered and vexed... until final it came to a climatic head as with a mixture of guilt for his anger and confusion in wondering why she didn't call. He hadn't felt this much feuding emotions since... well, since Joan Giradi smashed his art all those months back.
If Iris hadn't called him that morning, Adam would've been stuck at home still waiting for that phone call.
Iris had called for two reasons; one was to apologize for yesterday, and another to ask him if he still wanted to go "art supply shopping" with her, and maybe grab a bite to eat at the internet cafe that was across the street from the arts and craft store. She had explained to him that she was being an "insecure Joey Potter" yesterday, especially towards Joan. Adam didn't exactly get what she meant by that, especially that "Joey Potter" reference, but Iris basically apologized for her behavior. He had a feeling that the whole Grace issue was still unresolved, but since he was too upset at Joan, he knew he couldn't stay upset at Iris either. Adam accepted her apology and agreed to meet Iris at her house.
He was still troubled over Joan not calling him, but that couldn't stop him from being the type of boyfriend Iris needed him to be. So, using the same avoidance tactic that he pulled yesterday, he pushed all thoughts of Joan into the back of his mind and tried to enjoy the day with Iris. The word being tried.
As they exited the craft store, Iris was the first to notice...
"Is that Joan?"
Adam's attention snapped into focus, a reflex he often cursed for having. "What?"
"Right there, A. Across the street?" She kept her eyes on Joan, curiosity overcoming her as she also asked, "Who's the guy she's talking to?"
He regarded Joan and "the other guy" with sickening dread and anger. Just like his unnerving attention towards anything related to Joan Giradi, he also cursed his eidetic memory. Adam remembered seeing that other guy before... because he had caught Joan dancing with him at her house party weeks past. It was a memory he tried to erase as feverishly as the memory of her shattering his art.
Now he was watching them, yet again. A part of him wouldn't be worrying too much, especially considering their interaction and Joan's own behavior. If anything, Joan looked like she was having an argument with him and was regarding him with complete annoyance. However...
"Total B&B."
"Huh?"
Glancing up at Adam, "Benedick and Beatrice. From the play 'Much Ado About Nothing'? Two people so attracted to, so crazy about, one another that they mask it behind contempt and bickering?" Iris gave a soft knowing smirk, "Joan and whoever that guy is... complete and total B&B."
Adam turned from Iris to look back upon Joan, now giving the other guy a weary glare. At the moment, Adam actually wished he was back at home, waiting for that phone call that was never going to be made.
JoA~~JoA
"Now what?" Joan asked, glaring at him as she began crossing her arms. She was still completely unaware of her audience right across the street. "What do you want me to do?"
"It's your choice, Joan. You already know what I've asked of you."
"Yeah, well, you've actually asked a lot of me these past few months that I kind of lost count." She dropped her scowl and opted for a simper.
God chuckled, "And you wonder why sarcasm seems to be a natural part of our conversation."
Joan glanced down at the paper in her hand. "Seriously, what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to be able to wake up in the morning, knowing that you can not only trust me, but trust yourself." He gave her a sincere, patient smile. "If you feel like your plan will turn out for the best, then I can't stop you."
Not as certain as before, "It will work out... won't it?"
"Ask yourself this, Joan; if you completely believe that this one phone call will change things for the better... why are you allowing yourself to let me talk you out of it? I know you, Joan. You're capable of being completely driven to the point that you'd let nothing stand in your way. You had gotten that trait from your father." He had reached into his jeans back pocket, revealing small change. With his palm out, "You can make the phone call.. or," With a sly grin, "Or, keep the change for a rainy day."
Joan gave him a once over, finding herself unable to resist his offer. As she pocketed the change, she gave him a small smile.
There was mischief in his eyes, as if reading her thoughts, "You're extremely relieved that I'm not a real boy, huh?"
A laugh escaped her lips as she began walking south, towards the hospital. God kept up with her as she replied, "Yeah, then I'd really be in trouble. I'm just content with you being Jiminy Cricket instead of Pinocchio."
JoA~~JoA~~JoA
