Chapter Twenty-One: Dinner

Alex

The week drags by, each day slower than the last and I'm frustrated with training my pep-squad reject replacement, and dreading the dinner you're having tonight with my mother. It's not that I don't trust her-- it's just that I don't trust her. Cass is annoying as I expected but what I didn't expect is that her rah-rah style seems to be working with the local SVU squad. I guess her cheerleader style demeanor strikes a chord with the misogynistic bunch, and she's got them jumping through hoops to find better, more solid evidence in every case. I've stopped dropping in on the stationhouse completely, instead choosing to send Cass for most of my information. It's annoying getting her prep-school reports when she returns but it's definitely better than pulling teeth to get it from the guys myself.

Friday night finally comes and I find myself leaving work early, sitting by the phone, waiting for your report. At six pm my time you still haven't called and I'm convinced mother's absconded with you somewhere. I call the apartment, leaving you a message, then try your cell to find it turned off, out of service. At eight o'clock I call Elliot.

"Stabler." Elliot sounds groggy, and annoyed.

"Elliot, it's Alex."

"Alex, it's eleven o'clock and I'm working the morning shift. I love you guys, but not this much. What did she do?"

"No, it's not like that. Olivia was supposed to have dinner with my mother hours ago and she's not back yet. I'm worried."

"And you called me?"

"Well. I mean, can you… go over there? Check and see if she's still there?"

"Did you try her cell?"

"Yes, it's not turned on. And I've left her about 10 messages at the apartment and I'm worried."

"What exactly do you think happened Alex? I'm sure they're just talking, it's probably a good thing."

I can't hide my anxiety, and I hear my voice break despite my attempt to stay calm, "Elliot. Please. Just… drive by the apartment, drive out to the house. What if something happened?"

I hear Elliot groan, and take a deep breath, "Alex, I love you guys, but Olivia can take care of herself. Look, if you haven't heard from her by say, ten your time call me back and I'll drive around. But otherwise, I'm not going out to Long Island for anything less than a work call, or fifty-thousand dollars and a Rolex."

I take a deep breath, resigned. "Ok. Ok. I'm sure she's fine, she's fine right? I mean, it's Olivia. And it's just my mother. She's my mother. She may be madder than hell but she wouldn't actually hurt her."

"Exactly. Goodnight Alex."

"Sorry El, I just… I worry."

"S'ok. Call me if she doesn't show up. And Alex, stop worrying-- it's Liv."

"Right. Night."

I hang up and try your cell phone again. I pitch the phone into the couch in frustration, where the hell are you?

Olivia

I've been dreading this all week. I've taken the day off in preparation, switched days with Fin so I could spend some time today preparing myself for dinner with your mother. I think the most frightening thing is that I have no idea what to expect. I mean, your mother hates me. So the only thing I can think she possibly intends to do is to try and scare me off. Or worse-- buy me off. I've changed clothes a hundred times. Done and redone my makeup. Styled my hair, then re-showered and shaken it dry. By the time it's four o'clock I'm back in my robe staring at my closet with my hair sopping wet.

I've thought about calling you at work, asking you for advice but I know you're already nervous enough about this without hearing that I'm nervous too. You've tried repeatedly to talk me out of this dinner, and I've almost agreed on more than one occasion. But the truth is I'm curious, and I'd rather like the chance to speak with your mother about a few things without having you cluck disapprovingly at both of us. I grab at my original outfit again, pulling on the slacks you bought for me, and one of my 'nice' fitted t-shirts. I pull my favorite leather jacket out and lay it on the bed, then head to the bathroom to deal with my hair. A quick shake and a little gel and I'm ready to go. I opt against a lot of makeup, I want to feel comfortable when I confront your mother, and talking around a mouthful of lipstick won't do it. Another head shake and I'm ready to go. I spend the next hour pacing, trying to gather my thoughts, trying to decide what I'll say when it's my turn to speak. At five o'clock the bell rings and I'm surprised to see the Cabot Chauffeur at the stoop below. I was going to catch a cab, but apparently your mother has other ideas.

Alex

I snatch at the phone before it finishes the first ring, "Where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick!"

"Yeah, well I love you, but that was hardly a picnic for me either baby. Your mother is vicious, you know that?"

"What happened? Why were you gone so long?"

"I went for a walk after the chauffeur dropped me off"

"Oh lord, she sent Thomas to get you?"

"Oh yes, yes she did. And did you ever get the feeling that your family's dear chauffeur has something of a 'thing' for your mother? Because by the time I got to the house I was more worried about Thomas coming after me with a tire iron than I was about getting railroaded by your mom."

"I'm sorry. Thomas is a little… protective of the family. He's been the Cabot driver since before my folks got married. I think he had a pact with daddy to watch out for mom or something. It's a little… odd." How did we get off track. "Olivia, what happened with my mother?"

You sigh, and I can tell I'm not going to like this. I expect you to pop in, start talking but instead there's just this awkward silence.

"Stop trying to find the right words and just tell me dammit. What did she say?"

Olivia

By the time I got to your mother's house I wasn't just nervous, I was terrified. Thomas isn't one of those quiet, put up the screen, pretend I'm not here kind of drivers. Thomas is loud and ballsy, and talkative, and determined to protect your mom fiercely from any harm I may intend to cause her. When he deposited me somewhat unceremoniously at the gate to your mother's estate, I realized I was sweating and I grabbed the Kleenex I'd stashed in my pocket and wipe my forehead. I buzzed at the callbox and watched nervously as a camera turns in my direction.

"Yes?"

"Um. Olivia Benson, I'm supposed to have dinner with Mrs. Cabot?"

"Yes, Detective, please come up to the main entrance."

The gates swung open and I walked up the long drive, feeling petulant and pissed that Thomas hadn't driven me up to the door. It seems like a decidedly strategic move and I'm not sure if it was Thomas' choice or your mother's. Either way, I was glad I'm in shape by the time I got to what could only be the main entrance. I didn't have a chance to ring the bell as a well-dressed man pulled open the door and ushered me inside.

"Mrs. Cabot will receive you in the living room, and dinner will be served in the dining room in an hour."

An hour? I have to talk to her for an hour before dinner? I'd rather be locked in a windowless room with a serial rapist who's armed with a machete and a semi-automatic. I ground my teeth, and smiled politely as the man who is apparently a butler swept me into a finely decorated living room. All white walls were accented by overlarge gallery prints of artists I didn't recognize, and the furniture was too renaissance in style to possibly be comfortable. I can't imagine you being a child there, can't imagine anyone growing up there. My clothes were completely clean and I was afraid to sit on the too-white sofa, where on earth was a muddy child to sit? The woods were dark and the room had the air of wealth that I'd expect from your mother's home. How on earth did you become the person you are in a place like this?

I was running a hand along the plush fabric of a particularly overstuffed chair when your mother surprised me

"Miss Benson." Her voice was stiff, full of barely-disguised loathing, and her sudden presence made me jump.

"Mrs. Cabot." I didn't acknowledge that she dropped my title.

"Please, have a seat." She settled easily in the only remotely comfortable chair in the room, and I chose to perch rather precariously on the too-narrow sofa, worrying that I'd sweat the black of my new pants onto the too-white fabric. Your mother sat, regarding me with some unrecognizable fire in her eyes.

"Miss Benson, I'm sure you know why I've asked you here this evening."

"Actually Mrs. Cabot, it's Detective Benson, and no I don't." My nerves vanished as she began to speak, mostly because I finally recognized the face in the portrait behind her on the wall. It's yours, probably no more than six years old.

"Yes of course… Detective. Perhaps we can forgo the formalities, please call me Juliana, and what is it Alexandra calls you-- Livvy?" I felt a flash of anger as she used the nickname I reserve only for you.

"Olivia. Just Olivia."

There was a satisfied glint in your mother's eyes, she could tell she was getting under my skin.

"What exactly do you want Juliana? You're not exactly my biggest fan, and it's no secret I'm the reason you're no longer speaking to your own daughter. So why exactly have you dragged me out here on a Friday night when I'd quite frankly, rather be spending some time on the phone talking to my fiancée who's an entire continent away?"

Your mother looked momentarily shocked, I guess she wasn't expecting me to take the offensive.

"An excellent question Detective. Let's get right to the point shall we?"

"Let's." I waited anxiously for whatever your mother had up her sleeve.

"You already know how I feel about you and your relationship with my daughter. I'd like to make a proposal."

"Mrs. Cabot-- Juliana. I am not interested in having my interests purchased. And my relationship with your daughter is not up for discussion, or for barter."

"Yes, I assumed as much. I certainly didn't think it would be easy. But everyone has a price Detective, especially single women living in rat-hole apartments making city-wages, working too hard, too long for little or no recognition. I can change that. I do have certain connections. Haven't you ever wanted a promotion? A new job? Out of the gruesome world of Special Victim's? I'm offering you a chance to have anything you've ever wanted. The sky is the limit Detective. And all I'm asking is that you leave my daughter alone."

"Really? That's all? Let me get this straight Mrs. Cabot. You would rather I break your daughter's heart, not just by leaving her two weeks after I've proposed marriage, but by letting myself be sold out of our relationship by an offer of 'anything I could possibly want'? You'd rather I did that than actually continued to make her happy, and let me assure you-- she is happy-- you'd rather I did that than continued to love her? What is it exactly about our relationship that is so very threatening to you?"

"My daughter is not a lesbian Miss Benson. The moment she met you she became a completely different person. I don't know how you did it, or why but you have turned her into some sort of… pervert. I'll give you credit-- you must be very persuasive. She was all set, on track for a real career. Until you came along she could have done anything, been anything. She was headed for a judge's chair, politics even. And now… now she's living in some god-forsaken hick town on the other side of the country and playing at gay poster-woman for a new millennium. This is not what I had in mind for my daughter. She deserves better than this. No. She deserves better than you."

"So if I was someone else it wouldn't matter? If I were another woman you wouldn't care? Is that it? It's not that she's gay, it's that she's mine? It's that she chose me? Have you met your daughter Mrs. Cabot? She's not easily talked into things. She doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. She is quite capable of making her own decisions, and has been for some time. And just in case you've missed some of the details, since you refuse to talk to your own daughter, she came to me. She asked me out. She fell in love with me.

"And I won't pretend that I wasn't thrilled, that I wasn't over the moon with happiness when she invited me out to dinner the first time, that I didn't do the whole girly swoon thing when she told me how she felt about me. But I did not seduce your daughter. I didn't pursue her. I fell in love with your daughter the first time I saw her. But I didn't pursue her. I didn't want to put that on her. I didn't want her to have to deal with situations like this. And when we did finally find each other I begged her to keep it quiet, not to tell anyone. Not just because I was afraid for myself, but because I was afraid for her. I was afraid that she would encounter this kind of discrimination, this kind of bigotry. Neither of us imagined she'd get it from her own mother of all people, but I tried to protect her from it.

"I did not corrupt your daughter. I did not hurt her. All I did was love her, which is more than I can say for you Mrs. Cabot. You're so afraid of her getting hurt? What the fuck is your excuse?"

Alex

I can't help the tears that fall as you tell me how you stood up to my mother. Even though I'm sad, and not terribly surprised, I wish I could have seen the look on her face. "You shouldn't have antagonized her Olivia. You don't understand just how far-reaching her 'contacts' can be."

"What is she going to do Alex, get me fired? Cragen would never let anyone touch me. And besides Alex, did you catch the part where she tried to pay me not to be with you? How are you not infuriated by this?"

"What more needs to be said baby, sounds to me like you handled it brilliantly."

"You're not angry?"

"Liv, why would I be angry? Did you really expect anything less of her? I certainly didn't. Why do you think I tried so hard to keep you from going? I'm surprised you didn't slug her. I would have."

Ok, I wouldn't have, but still. You handled yourself far more gracefully than I could have. "So that was it? You didn't stay for dinner, you just left?"

You're quiet. What haven't you told me yet?

"Liv."

"That was just the good bit. It sort of went… downhill from there."

Olivia

"Dinner, Madame." The Jeeves-type interrupted our argument and before I had a chance to storm from the house I was swept into a formal dining room, complete with mahogany dining table, suited to seat twelve, set for two. I was fuming, so angry I could hardly see, and somehow I still found myself seated across from your mother, at a finely set place surrounded by too many forks, and a wineglass. Cute.

I snagged the butler as he turned to leave, handing him my full wineglass, "You can take this with you. I'd prefer a glass of water please. As Mrs. Cabot is well-aware, I don't drink."

"Jeeves" paused, looking to Mrs. Cabot for approval, then took the wineglass as she nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Well done Detective. Surely you can't fault me for wondering."

"Wondering what-- if I've been keeping my promises? I told Alex I wouldn't drink and I haven't. But I'm sure you know that. I'm sure you can agree that these little… tests are below even you."

"Perhaps." Sounding ever dignified, I got a small spark of vindication seeing the flash of anger that crossed her eyes. It's easy to see where you get those amazing blue eyes. For all her faults, Juliana is stunning. If it's true that women age like their mothers, you will no doubt be breathtakingly beautiful until the day you die. Your face has a softness that your mother's lacks however, and there's a kindness in your eyes that is absent in your mother's searing crystal blues. She turned them to study me as a perfectly dressed maid served the first course.

An impossibly small bird rested on a plate decorated with some nameless sauce. I decided to follow Juliana's lead with the bird, but she remained still, watching me. I tried not to grimace as I thought back to what you've told me about these fancy-schmancy dinners. I grabbed the second fork in, vaguely remembering something about the salad fork being on the outside, and I must have chosen the right one as Juliana herself picked up the second fork and her knife and began to cut off delicate pieces from the tiny bird. We held the silence between us until I could scrape no more meat from the bone, and I was glad I'd eaten before I came. This bird couldn't fill a child. Why do rich people insist on eating such difficult food?

As the kitchen help cleared our plates and brought out a plate of some unrecognizable vegetable, Juliana broke the silence. "Did you enjoy your hen Detective?"

"Pardon?"

"Cornish Game Hen. A delicate bird, delicious when properly prepared. It's made remarkably better with the complement of a fine white wine, although I can see how you wouldn't really notice."

I tried not to sputter my anger, I may not understand all of this fancy shit, but I know when I'm being patronized. "Why am I still here Juliana? Clearly my company isn't what you'd like it to be, so why don't I just leave?"

"I'm not finished with you Detective."

"Well quite frankly Mrs. Cabot, I am finished. I don't believe you have anything of value to say to me, and I certainly don't have anything I'm willing to say to you if I intend to keep my sense of propriety, so--"

"Propriety Miss Benson? That's rather an interesting concern coming from someone like you. You don't seem to be terribly concerned with propriety when it comes to my daughter."

"Why? Because I'm gay?" For once the word didn't stick in my throat, and I didn't feel the usual pull of anxiety at the sound of it in the room. I suppose having to defend you to your mother gave me the courage to be honest. "Being gay doesn't mean I can't be discrete. In fact, even my own partner didn't know about it until after Alex came back in February. We were more than discreet. In Elliot's words, we were 'damn near non-existent.' The only person that helped was me, and it caused your daughter a great deal of pain in the meantime. You claim to be so concerned with Alex's feelings. Have you stopped to ask her exactly how she feels? Or are you just running on some judgment of how you think she should feel?"

"I know perfectly well how my daughter feels Miss Benson. She has made her feelings disgustingly clear in regards to your relationship. But she is quite clearly under the delusion that this sort of thing is all right, that this sort of relationship is acceptable. I don't know how exactly you've convinced her to abandon all of her good breeding, but she isn't thinking clearly, and hasn't been for some time."

Alex

"Breeding? Breeding? Like I'm what, a prized poodle? Damn-it. That woman… ugh. God. Please tell me you hit her?" I can't believe it, can't believe she still has the nerve to call herself my mother. Why on earth was I ever concerned with her opinions? To her, I'm worth as much as a show dog. But even as angry as I am, as sorry as I am that she's treated you to her particular brand of concern and cruelty, I can't help feeling just a touch of loss for my relationship with my mother. She was once my friend, a confidant. I used to admire her, the way she picked herself up after Daddy died, took over his holdings, his business ventures. She made quite a name for herself as a corporate widow, and ultimately as a corporate survivor. I've seen mother reduce entire board-rooms to tears. For some reason, my falling in love with you reduced me to the level of corporate miscreant in her eyes. Even though I know I should be disgusted, I'm hurt too, because above it all I should still be her daughter.

"Olivia, why did you stay? Why didn't you just leave, before dinner, why did you let her treat you that way?"

"She didn't do all the talking Alex. I stayed because I had things I needed to say-- things I needed her to know. This was the only chance I'm going to get. You know as well as I do that once the wedding is done she won't be speaking to either of us, ever if she can help it. I don't intend to seek her out to say the things I have to say, so I took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself. f it meant having to defend you and us to her at the same time then fine."

I sigh. You just can't escape the need to play my hero. I love you for it, but one day I'm going to have to find a way to repay the favor. "So what are these 'things' you had to say?"

Olivia

After the final plate was cleared I found myself perched again on the odd white sofa, watching your mother drink Cognac. I have to admit, the woman has balls, but I was tired of these little jousts. It was time to get to the point.

"Look, Juliana. I didn't come here to listen to you demean my relationship, or to spend my evening defending your own daughters honor. I came here because I had a few things I needed to get off of my chest."

"Sadly detective, that wasn't really the--"

"I don't give a fuck what the point of this little invitation was. I've listened to you diminish, demean, and demoralize my relationship for… three hours now. It's time that you did a little listening yourself. I know it won't be easy-- you're accustomed to being heard, and abided. But I am not most people, Mrs. Cabot. I'm not accustomed to being questioned, or interrogated. Let me tell you how this is going to work. I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen. When I'm finished, you're going to have Jeeves the Butler call me a cab to take me home. And after tonight, you will not contact me again. And unless you find yourself in a position to apologize to your daughter, you won't contact her either. You will not make threats about my career, you will not attempt to buy me off, and you will not make any further offers to 'buy' my affections away from Alex. One- because I would have no problem bringing you in for attempting to bribe an officer of the law" I held up a hand at her objection. I know it would be a trumped up charge, and that it wouldn't stick, but I can't say I wouldn't enjoy watching your mother sweat a night in jail in the meantime. "And two- because it can't be done. You said you could offer me anything I've ever wanted? Guess what-- the only thing I have ever, ever wanted was for Alex to be happy, for Alex to be loved. And I do Mrs. Cabot, love her I mean. She is the only thing in my life that I want. And clearly she is not yours to give, so you can put your money away. Some people can't be bought."

"Really Detective, is this necessary?" Your mother is beginning to look a little uncomfortable. I'm sorry to say I rather enjoy this.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is. You've made it necessary. Believe me, I'd much rather just walk away, leave it, believe that someday you'll realize your daughter is worth more than your sense of decency, worth more than your reputation." I don't give her a chance to interrupt, launching directly into the speech I've been preparing since the last time your mother and I had words.

"When I met Alex… when I met Alex I was a mess. I was a drunk, I was sleeping with men I barely knew, I was trying to convince myself that I was someone I wasn't. I'd spent a lot of time trying to be something I wasn't, and when Alex walked in, all of a sudden I stopped fighting. I stopped fighting my history, my heritage, my instincts. Your daughter, the one you so easily dismiss, changed me. She made me a better woman, makes me a better woman. Falling in love with her, watching her fall in love with me was an intense experience. Most days I still wonder how it happened, how I got so lucky. It hasn't been perfect, and we've both nearly shot it to hell more than once. And those two years when Lex was gone…" my voice cracks, I wish I could stop the flood of emotions that washes over me thinking of those years after you'd died. I don't want to cry in front of your mother. I drop my eyes away from her gaze, using the moment to compose myself.

"When Lex was gone I stopped living. I worked because I had to, but it wasn't the same. I felt like my world fell apart without her. I thought maybe when she was gone that you and I … I don't know. That maybe you'd relent, that maybe you'd see what she meant to me. It was stupid, and overly optimistic I know. But for some reason I thought that maybe the fact that I loved her would be enough for you. Clearly I overestimated you. She tried to warn me, tried to tell me what you were like and I just couldn't believe that a mother would-- what, disown-- her daughter for something she has no control over. Alex didn't choose this, it chose her. She was born this way, and so was I. I tried for years to deny that I was gay, but Alex… Alex never tried to deny anything. She'd never really thought about it but as soon as we sorted out how we really felt she wanted to tell the world. I've always admired that about her.

"She calls me her hero, tells me I'm her knight in shining armor, that I'm courageous. But the truth is, she's the brave one. And I love her, for that, and a million other reasons I can't even begin to describe. I'm sorry that you can't see her the way I do, that you can't love her the way you should. But I won't let you hurt her anymore."

"Are you quite finished Detective?" Her revulsion was thinly veiled, and I could see the mask of her propriety slipping. I was treading thin ice, and quite frankly, I no longer cared.

"Not quite. If you ever, and I mean ever speak to your daughter the way you did when she called to tell you about our engagement, I will personally make your life a living hell. You see Juliana, I have some 'contacts' of my own. And I'm sure that some of these contacts, particularly the ones connected with the IRS and the department of finance would have more than a passing interest in some of your late-husband's 'business' holdings-- holdings over which you now have executive control. I've done a bit of research Mrs. Cabot. And while I don't particularly like stooping to threats, I really don't see any other way at this point to make it clear. You have two options: The first is that you retain contact with your daughter and lend her your support, and your love. The second is that you leave us both the hell alone to live our lives in peace. Should you choose another option, other than the two I've given you, I will have no qualms handing over some of my research to my friends in the financial district. I hope you'll keep that in mind."

Your mother looked shocked, even-- terrified. I suppose she never imagined me to be quite this resourceful. She should have known not to challenge someone like me. I meant it when I said I didn't like resorting to threats, but desperate times and all that. I waited for your mother to recover, watched as she pondered her options. Her face shifted slowly from terrified to resigned, and I knew I'd won. Finally.

She stood and walked to the almost invisible all-white intercom next to the doorway of the living room.

"George, tell Thomas to bring the car around. Detective Benson is ready to leave."

"I'll take a cab."

"Nonsense. Thomas will drive you. It's the least I can do."

We were silent until a gentle knock sounded on the door, and George/Jeeves announced the appearance of your mother's driver.

"It's been… interesting, Detective. Please give my regards to Alexandra. You needn't worry, I won't be contacting her, or you again."

I nodded, gathering my jacket and turning to leave, resigning myself to being driven by the venerable Thomas. When I heard your mother clear her throat I turned back,

"Olivia."

"Yes?"

"Take care of my daughter will you? She's… worth it."

I nodded, "I know she is."