The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for TGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and am making no profit from their use. Thank you to Stephen J. Cannell, the cast, producers, writers, directors, and crew for giving us this wonderful, timeless show and the characters that bring it to life.
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Saturday Night
September 1981
Los Angeles
"Honey," Ralph called, his voice ringing through the compact suburban LA bungalow. "Have you seen my cummerbund?"
"It's in here Ralph," Pam called from behind the bedroom door. "Hurry up, sweetheart, it's time to go."
Ralph rolled his eyes as he made his way through the living room toward the sound of her voice. The Golden Gavel Dinner was the big night in the LA legal community, he reminded himself. She was just nervous about making a good impression as a new Junior Partner in her firm. That's the only reason she didn't notice he'd been waiting patiently by the front door for the last half hour.
He must have paced by the mirrored coat rack in the small tiled entryway a dozen times before he'd noticed something was missing from his formal black and white ensemble. Well, not missing exactly, he corrected himself. James Bond never wore a cummerbund and he looked just fine.
He pushed open the bedroom door and started into the room saying, "Pam, are you sure I need-"
Pam turned from the dresser and Ralph forgot all about cummerbunds.
Her long, lustrously dark hair normally hung straight or fell in a wavy mane depending on her mood. Tonight it was swept up in a tumble of loose curls that managed the amazing feat of being both elegant and tousled at the same time.
The hairstyle left her long, elegant neck exposed and, Ralph noticed with a thrill of surprise, there was a lot of neck to enjoy. The bodice of her slim-cut, floor length dress dipped down to reveal parts of her he normally saw draped only in a rumpled bed sheet.
He had to admit, they looked pretty good in flame red sequins, too. The rich color enhanced the natural glow of her creamy skin.
Yes, he decided, red sequins definitely had a lot going in their favor. Although he couldn't deny the bed sheet was still his first choice.
"Ralph?" she said. "Up here, honey."
He pulled his gaze away from the many wonders of her glittering dress and saw she was flashing him a hesitant smile.
"Now, be honest, Ralph," she said. "Do you think it's too much?"
She did a slow turn and he was delighted to see the dress was cut as high as it was low. There was a definite flash of thigh as the long skirt trailed slightly behind her movement. She did another turn and he was lost in the play of sparkling light and glimpsed skin.
"Ralph?" she said. "What do you think? Say something, honey."
She had her full lower lip caught in her teeth and was watching him anxiously.
Ralph pulled himself together with a little shake. He realized he was breathing fast and could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He crossed the room to the dresser and gently took her shoulders in his hands
"Pamela," he said, gazing deep into her ice blue eyes, "You look… amazing."
The word was too small to hold everything he was feeling as he beheld this vision in red, but she seemed to hear all the other words behind it – stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, mine.
Her breath quickened as if keeping pace with his throbbing pulse. He bent toward her and was enveloped by an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla fragrance.
Their lips met and they kissed lightly - once, twice. Then the kiss deepened and all he knew was the taste of her mouth and the feel of her warm skin under his hands.
When they finally parted for breath, her face was flushed.
A long tendril of hair had come loose and rested on her cheek. He carefully brushed it back behind her ear and leaned close to nuzzle the soft skin of her neck.
This is where the jasmine is coming from, he thought dreamily.
"How late are we?" he murmured and caught her earlobe gently in his teeth.
"Mmm?" she breathed against his neck.
"Oh," she murmured, "Late? Um…"
"Oh!" she said, suddenly stiffening in his arms.
"Oh, no, Ralph," she said leaning away and glaring at him accusingly. "Don't you dare!"
"Oh," she said, pulling out of his arms and spinning toward the mirror. "Honestly, Ralph, you do that thing with my ear and it works every time!"
She patted carefully at her hair then slid her hand down to the slender spaghetti straps of her bodice. She did a little shimmy inside her dress, tugging the neckline into place.
The small movement almost sent him over the edge. With amazing self-restraint, he resisted the urge to drag her backward onto the bed.
"We're very late," she said as she cast a quick glance over the dresser and snatched up a shiny gold tube of lipstick.
"-ts -nly –nce a –ear," she said with her mouth in a tight "o" as she stroked the lipstick across her slightly smudged lips.
He cocked an eyebrow at her in the mirror. She broke into a grin and dropped the lipstick into her tiny beaded handbag.
"It's only once a year," she said. "After tonight, we won't have to worry about the Golden Gavel Dinner again until next September."
"In my new job, I really can't miss it," she said, running the side of her finger carefully under her eye and examining the effect closely.
Her eyes shifted and she grinned.
"No matter how good the counter offer," she said.
Smiling, he moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Her gray-blue eyes met his bright-blue ones in the mirror. He leaned forward and put his mouth close to her ear.
"Just promise me," he said softly, "That I can enjoy this dress some more later."
"On," he murmured.
He hooked his thumb under one slender strap and slid it slowly down her shoulder.
"And off."
He kissed her neck and felt her shiver under his touch.
"It's a date," she breathed.
He looked up at the mirror and saw her watching him.
"Maybe we'll skip the desert course," she said.
They both grinned and Ralph slipped the strap back over her shoulder.
She bounced her hip against his thigh and he stepped back, laughing.
"Now let's go," she said, "So I can impress everyone with my handsome escort."
She scooped the flame red cummerbund off the dresser and dropped it in his hand, then moved toward the door in a blaze of red sequins.
"I like that color on you," he called as she disappeared around the door.
"I thought you might," she answered from the living room. "I was thinking of you when I picked it out."
He grinned and snugged the cummerbund into place. He checked the effect in the mirror.
Okay, he thought, as he ran his hand through his tousled blond curls, maybe he wasn't James Bond. But he still looked pretty good in a tux, if he did say so himself.
He found Pam a moment later at the dining room table, rummaging through her small black sequined handbag. She gave a little sigh of relief and tugged two small chits of paper from her bag. She snapped the clasp of the purse closed and moved toward the door.
"Whose car should we take?" she said, turning automatically as he lifted her black satin wrap down from the coat rack.
"Let's take yours," he said and settled the shining fabric over her shoulders. "A white Beetle goes better with formal wear."
A few minutes later, Ralph was backing out of the driveway. Pam was checking her makeup in the vanity mirror behind the passenger-side sun visor as he pulled out onto the street.
"I hope your evening isn't too horribly boring," she said.
"With you beside me," he said, "I'm sure it's going to be a night to remember."
As the white Volkswagen vanished around the corner, headlights flared in front of a house halfway up the block. A dark sedan pulled away from the curb.
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Ralph checked his watch again. It had been two and a half hours since Pam had been close enough to talk to and then it was just long enough to tell him his bowtie was crooked. All in all, he decided, "horribly boring" was actually a pretty good description of the evening.
At least he wasn't the only one at the table casting surreptitious glances around the ballroom looking for their missing companions. Unfortunately for his ego, he was the only male.
The only other people still sharing this large round banquet table with him were the wives of prominent lawyers. They were, by and large, solidly built, older women, somewhere around his mother's age.
They seemed perfectly pleasant, but they spent a surprising amount of time talking about country clubs and marinas – two things Ralph had only experienced by driving past them.
His restless gaze finally picked out Pam on the other side of the room. As he watched, she shook hands with a middle-aged man sporting an unconvincing comb-over. Ralph had never realized before how much politics went into being an up-and-coming Junior Partner. He was fairly certain Pam had shaken hands with every man the room by now. Not that he was keeping track, he told himself.
"Mr. Hinkley," said a low, sweet voice to his left. "It must be very interesting to be a school teacher."
He turned back to Mitzi Gold. She was the exception to the "solidly built, older woman" rule.
Mitzi's mane of wavy, blond hair fell around her shoulders in a "just rolled out of bed" way that, knowing the lengths Pam went to for that effect, must have taken hours to achieve. Her full, pink lips pursed in an "o" of concentration as she gazed at him with her vivid green eyes.
Mr. Gold hadn't been seen at the table for at three hours. Mitzi must be just as bored as he was. The least they could do was entertain each other, he reasoned.
Mitzi leaned toward him, resting her chin on her palm. And, he thought, testing the staying power of the baby blue taffeta confection she was currently at risk of slipping out of.
He scooted his chair a little closer to hers, so she wouldn't have to strain to hear him over the sound of the band.
"Call me Ralph," he said, smiling at her obvious delight at the familiarity.
"Ralph," she repeated, beaming at him with dazzlingly white teeth.
"Ralph," she said a little breathlessly. "Would you like to-"
A white-jacketed figure appeared at his elbow.
"Excuse, me," said a slightly accented voice. "Mr. Hinkley?"
Ralph looked up find an elegant Asian man, immaculately dressed in the uniform of the hotel staff, looking down at him.
"My apologies, Mr. Hinkley," he said, bowing his head slightly, "There is a-"
He hesitated.
"-gentleman in the lobby," he continued at last. "He is asking to see you."
"A gentleman?" said Ralph.
The waiter nodded.
"A mature gentleman with a… rather strident voice," he said with an apologetic smile.
Ralph winced inwardly. There weren't many mature gentlemen with strident voices who would track him down at a law dinner. Only one came to mind, in fact: William "Bill" Maxwell, FBI.
He weighed his options quickly. He could try hiding out here in the ballroom. With luck, he thought, he might blend in with the other tuxedos.
A parade of balding, jowly Senior Law Partners marched through his mind. Okay, he admitted, camouflage was unlikely.
Besides, the only thing worse than slipping out of the dinner to head his partner off, would be if he didn't and Pam saw him first.
The waiter gazed down at him patiently.
"Mitzi," Ralph said, rising and dropping his napkin to the table. "It's been lovely to meet you."
He held out his hand.
"I hope we meet again soon," he said.
She took his hand in her cool, slender fingers, but to his surprise, instead of letting go, she held it and stood up from the table.
"I'll come with you," she said, gazing at him with her brilliant green eyes. "It's a little stuffy in here."
"Uh- all right," he said as she slipped her hand under his elbow and rested it lightly on his arm.
"If you'll follow me, sir," said the waiter. He turned and wove gracefully through the knots of chatting lawyers.
Ralph followed, feeling somewhat bemused as the lavender-scented Mitzi glided beside him.
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Pam waved at the many-chinned Lester Mazerve as he sat grinning at her from his table by the bandstand. She returned his smile hoping she didn't look as if she had just swallowed a handful of thumbtacks.
Dutifully, she started making her way through the throng to do her obligatory five minutes with the Senior Partner for Mergers. She sighed inwardly and gave herself the pep talk that had become her mantra through the long evening of speeches and watery hotel drinks.
Once a year, Pam, she chanted silently. Be a good girl for a few hours, then you and Ralph can go home.
And then you can be bad, she added. She felt her lips curl in a wicked smile.
Lester blinked at her in evident confusion and she felt her cheeks go hot. She looked away and her eyes automatically sought Ralph at their table by the bar.
He wasn't there. She paused on her way to Lester's table and scanned the floor. Her eyes picked out each blond head in the room but they all belonged to the arm candy of some middle-aged partner in a too-tight tuxedo.
She looked back at their table, thinking she had just missed him, and realized with a jolt that Mitzi Gold was gone, too.
Whose idea had it been to seat them with the Golds, she fumed. She'd never heard of John Gold before tonight. And she was sure she would have remembered meeting the tall, slim lawyer with his raven hair and gray eyes.
And Mitzi - her IQ couldn't be much higher than her dress size. How could she and Ralph possibly have anything to talk about?
Perhaps they had found something in common, she thought grimly, like a shared interest in Mitzi's low cut dress, and they had gone out on the terrace to discuss it.
She glanced back at Lester. With relief, she saw Don Green had wandered up and the two men were already deep in conversation. Time to find Ralph, she thought. And, hopefully, not Mitzi.
She was starting across the floor when a potted plant tried to catch her attention.
"Psst!" it hissed.
She had a moment of disoriented confusion before the mental picture slotted into place.
"Bill," she said, turning to the plant. "What are you doing here?"
"Shh!" said a gruff voice. "Jeez, Counselor, nice covert skills you got there. Could you maybe, I don't know, be a little louder?"
Federal Agent Bill Maxwell stepped out from behind the greenery. His salt and pepper hair, square jaw, and solid build were all deeply familiar. As was his apparently teflon-coated, horrible gray suit.
"I could say the same to you, Bill," she said, casting a glance down his creased trousers. "This is a formal dinner, you know."
"Yeah, well," he said, his eyes shifting as he apparently scanned the room behind her. "I'm not staying for the fish course."
His gaze lighted on her for a moment and he took in a deep breath.
"You look, uh, nice," he said, his glance lingering on the neckline of her gown.
Abruptly his eyes shifted away and he peered intently at the bandstand.
"Our boy must be pleased as punch to be here with such a- er- dish," he said. She noticed a vein throbbing in his clenched jaw.
She fought back a smile and cleared her throat.
"Thank you, Bill," she said. "I'm sure you meant that as a compliment. Now what are you doing here and what do you want with my date?"
"Yeah," he answered absently, his gaze still raking across the room. "Where is he exactly?"
She turned to check their table again. Still no Ralph. Or Mitzi.
"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "But I'm really curious."
Bill grunted.
"Okay," he said briskly. "Well, when I find him, I'll tell him you were looking for him."
She caught his arm before he could move.
"And send him back here, right, Bill?" she said.
"Uh," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Yeah, about that, can you get back to Ralph's place by yourself?"
She blinked at him.
"Got car keys?" he said, turning back to her with wide, innocent eyes.
"No," she said slowly. "And Ralph's not wearing the suit."
Bill pursed his lips in a tight frown.
"And-" she went on, keeping her grip on his arm as he tried to step away. "He's not going home to get it. Bill-"
She pulled him close and dropped her voice.
"This is a big night for me, whatever you need Ralph for can wait."
"Yeah, well, here's the thing, Counselor," he said, shifting his weight so the pull against her hand eased. "Marty the Slug just turned up at a building site in Encino under about thirty tons of concrete rubble."
"A lot of folks down at the bureau are ready to write it off as a fitting end for a guy who belonged under a rock, but not me."
"Naturally," she said under her breath. He didn't seem to hear.
"Marty only worked for one guy, long term," he said. "Joey Cupid. Joey was last seen at a meeting with Michael Yan's gang. Yan basically runs the west side. You with me?"
"Joey Cupid?" she said slowly. "Is that a real name?"
"Joey likes to use a bow and arrow," Bill said. "Real fruitcake. Anyway, Yan's brother was in a Russian pen with the brother of Vlad Rostokrovinitz, this Ruskie enforcer-"
"Wait, how do you know all that?" she broke in.
"What?" he said, staring at her blankly.
"About the Russian prison?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Counselor," he said, "Have I ever showed you this piece of tin I carry around? It's shaped like a little shield and-"
She held up a hand.
"Fine," she said. "Vlad Krovnorostovich. Go on."
"Rosto-krov-initz," he enunciated. "Anyways, we think Rostokrovinitz got into the US last month on a forged visa. The likeliest scenario is, he's here to help Joey get a lock on the West Coast with Yan in for a piece of the pie."
"One problem is," he went on, "There's no pictures of this guy. He's wanted in half a dozen countries, but he's like an invisible man. That's his big advantage. He can set up as a legitimate business man and build his racket in the background with Joey and Yan as his main clients."
A waiter wandered past with a tray of empty champagne flutes. Bill gave him a hard stare then continued in a lower voice.
"The other problem is," he said softly. "Since nobody's knows what Rostokrovinitz looks like, we can't exactly put out an APB on him. And an invisible Russian mobster is not really enough to get most guys at the Bureau hopping off the walls like ping pongs."
"Except you," said Pam.
"Right," he said, briskly. "I tell 'em, 'How do you know you haven't seen the guy if there's no pictures of him. You could'a been sitting next to him last night at Ruby's. Get out there and shake him loose.'"
"But they didn't listen," she said.
"Nah!" he said. "Too busy ironing their Wanted posters."
"So you want Ralph to help you-" she said.
"Find Rostokrovinitz," he finished.
"Before he helps Joey Cupid takes over the West Coast."
"Bingo," he said and paused. "Uh, there's just one hitch."
"Other than the fact that he could be sitting three tables away and you wouldn't recognize him?" she said.
"Yeah," he said. "The other problem being-"
He hesitated.
"What?" she said, despite the strong foreboding that she wasn't going to like the answer.
Bill licked his lips.
"Joey Cupid," he said, "Knows what Ralph looks like."
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- continued -
"The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For"