- Yo, Beckett! - a friendly, short, stoutly built Hispanic man approached a beautiful, young woman seated behind a table full of papers. The cop sat down on the edge of the table, gently pushing aside a tall bale. - Won't you keep us company? All of us, and Roy is no exception, applaud your diligence, but a change of scenery is always good for your efficiency.
- What do you think I'm doing? Playing games? The edge of the Bendix case report is Monday morning," Beckett pursed her lips, rolling her eyes sadly and with an understandable sigh, "and he doesn't seem to be the only one. If you only knew how long the ears of the Power Apostles stick out in this business, eh? Have you any idea how much pressure this puts on us all?
- We do, of course, but it's a pity... a pity," sighed another detective, a brown-haired man with blue eyes, sitting on a swivel chair on the other side of Beckett, "and we were scouting a cozy joint... Thirty kinds of beer, twenty kinds of coffee, and a tart ruby wine for every taste. Plus...
- Thank you guys for being so cool, but you have to understand me too! I can't just give up on the world like that! No one in the world...
- Alright, alright! - nodding in agreement, the brown-haired man, but still put a piece of paper in Beckett's right hand. - Here's the address, Kate, and you're always welcome. Also at midnight, in addition to coffee and wine, a striptease is expected, and then everyone is free to choose to continue!
- Don't be a drifter, boys, as long as your mommy lets you! - Kate smiled condescendingly.
Realizing that the conversation was over, the detectives exchanged farewell handshakes, and while the boys collected files from the desks, and tiredly stomped to the elevator, Beckett managed to run to the break room and now melted with the enchanting aroma of coffee. She sat, savoring each sip, then replaced the mug with a ballpoint pen and another, it was unclear which report was which.
It was Friday again, and once again my friends were leaving with nothing. Their sad glances, among themselves and at her, were quite eloquent, but Kate did not dissuade anyone. Banal at first glance, in reality the Bendix case was a very complicated and incredibly complicated one: a deadly game was being played against the police department in general, and against their station in particular, involving some important figures. And this uneasy situation required both her and the boys to be delicate, persistent, and circumspect, but the abominably stinky slaps of "political filth" could not be avoided after all. Well, not that at all, but in a couple of weeks without a day off, Beckett was disastrously tired.
Even in the company of one of her exes, drugged up with alcohol and crucified on a creaky couch, Kate could never get back to her usual state - sober person and pragmatist to the bone. So she should, must, have been helped by quite prosaic things: a horizontal bar, weight-training, jogging, and a bubble bath with wine and a book. A light, relaxing massage of her back and shoulders and the very thing that liquefied men's brains wouldn't hurt, but she couldn't call Burt again. Bored, the bastard, worse than a dung fly, and to whom? Again the unanswered question that had long ago and firmly bogged down in the intricacies of her soul. It was a hard, very hard day, and the call from her father...
Putting down her pen, Kate leaned back in her chair; dipping her fingers into her auburn hair, she stretched with pleasure. Why had Daddy congratulated her on a date she'd long since stopped celebrating? Specifically, since the SAME time. It wasn't that there hadn't been mutual attempts to smooth over the pain before; more than once or twice her father had come with gifts, but seeing his difficulties with money, she politely but firmly refused. Jim, of course, agonized, but accepted his beloved Katie's choice, for no amount of attention, however valuable, would have replaced her companionship with her mother. That was why, by mutual acquiescence, they stopped seeing each other that day and the day before, and even afterward, making only occasional phone calls. Unfortunately, it was her big day.
She dug her cell phone out of the piles of papers, opened the incoming calls, and at some lengthy hesitation fiddled with the frayed edge with her thumb, but suddenly stepped back, grudgingly cringing. No, let it stay the same, because it was easier and simpler to live with. Of course, her beloved father would be upset, but certainly not offended, and she would be sure to call him back. Later. Now that they had worked together to overcome his addiction, there was no need to fear for another breakdown. After all, the Beckett family's word was law.
Kate put the phone aside, maybe even a little sharper than she should have, and leaned over the papers again. Roy is hungry for results, and he's not the only one.
About three hours passed. The coffee was a fond memory, and the cup had a coating on the walls, but Beckett felt as if she could stand it no longer: her lower back felt as if it were under the hooves of a Percheron, and no warming up helped her any longer. Shaking her head affirmatively, Kate relievedly put down the pen, wove her fingers together until they crunched, and made some vigorous rotations with her brushes, reading the "work of her hands" at the same time. When the lion's share of the work is done, the rest is unhappily postponed to tomorrow. After all, one has to kill this unfortunate weekend.
An insistent, ringing trill, shooting painfully into her temples, distracted her thoughts, and Kate picked up the phone.
- Yes, Lainie?! - Beckett responded benevolently, hearing the noise of a feast on the receiver. - How many cocktails do you have in your hand?
- Still rooting, my friend? - the question was posed with judgmental overtones, and Kate smiled understandingly as she pictured Lainey's eyebrows arching reproachfully:
- "And don't be so quick to reproach me! After all, everything ends sometime (even coffee!), and that's why, and with a clear conscience, I'm finally washing my hands.
- She's washing her hands, of course she is! No man has yet been born to remake you, or at least accept you for who you are," her friend remarked grumpily, but the timbre of her voice suggested that she was smiling. - And no one was going to mess with your head! You're your own tough little girl, but before you go, look in the bottom drawer of your desk. What's in there is just... ..." Knowing exactly how her words would affect her friend, Lainie hesitated for a moment, then forced herself to say, "... a small, um, token of attention. Mine, and only for you and me. And please don't jump to any hasty conclusions, okay?
- Okay. - Kate raised her eyebrows in bewilderment. Indeed, the word "present" meant no more to her than the foam bubbles behind the boat, and to put it simply, presents from men like Bert were of no concern to her at all. No matter how much this glossy dandy tried to woo her, no matter how much he blew in her ears, the candy went stupidly to the duty room and the flowers to Lainey. Why more, since they had nothing to say to each other.
Lainey had long since passed out, and Kate was still holding the phone to her ear, pondering. She hummed perplexedly, pulling out the lowest drawer. Doubts still gnawed at her, but when the thick paper crunched under her fingers, purely feminine interest suddenly kicked in. A little away from herself, Beckett hung the envelope out by the corner and twirled it from side to side. Her darling Lainie was super laconic, scribbling beautifully and neatly, "To you!"
And what's so interesting inside? It's hard and flat. Steel, most likely. Chuckling at the apparent obviousness, Kate carefully tore the perforated edge and shook the envelope gently. A frayed nickel-plated key immediately fell out, but a small scrap of paper remained inside. To read the crisp, ugly text, Kate spread the note out with her fingers:
"Hi, girlfriend! I'm sorry things didn't work out with Burt, but it saves me a lot of remorse and pandering. But I can't leave my best friend on you-know-what day, either, so here's my suggestion: Forget the work calls and ironclad commitments and go to a cozy little place. It's nicely furnished, and for two whole days you're the absolute mistress there. There's a coffeemaker, something in the fridge, and once you're settled in, call the number below. Ask for "dodger" Alex, but don't get yourself too twisted! Just take the situation calmly and with a dose of humor, because no one is pushing you into a long and lasting relationship.
By the way, a few general phrases about your partner (hearsay, but I trust the source as much as I trust myself): quite a mature man, very even handsome. He knows his worth, has an enviable sense of humor, and has a clear sense of the boundaries of "may" and "may not". He's also said to be a great original. Dig into your soul he is not allowed, but can only indulge your whims. As a result, behave with him - you decide. If you don't like him, or if he just messes up, you can just tell him to go fuck himself, I won't be offended. Don't worry about payment either. Have a nice rest and best wishes. Lainey."
Placing the envelope in front of her, Kate stared at it for a long, long time, indefinitely drumming her fingers on the desk lid. When you work hard, sleep intermittently, and eat on the run, you never feel more like a squirrel in a wheel. Especially when work for you - it's all, with time accumulated inner strength, pride, determination, self-confidence, but where would you fasten a very carefully concealed natural femininity of nature, huh? And the latent desire to become at least for a moment more malleable, soft, sensual, not for a minute did not let go. And no matter how ashamed she was to admit it to herself, that was what would cause an emotional discharge. Except that she had one global problem - the lack of a suitable candidate. That is, a man who would understand half a word, soothe the soul and tend to the body.
Kate smirked bitterly, looking at the report, to which she was not going to touch again. All her suitors were the same in terms of needs, and the emotional peaks of pleasure smoothed out the unyielding attitude a bit, but mornings were more likely to bring disappointment. The satisfaction of purely physicality and the lack of unity of souls never allowed her to forget the man who had once made her believe in love and bitterly deceived her.
Beckett put her pen in the table and leaned back, clasping her hands together at the back of her head. She smiled dreamily and enigmatically. Royce! Strangely, she wasn't angry with him now for the way he'd treated her. Beckett was only gnawing with mild annoyance. Mike even managed to walk away with dignity. The sly one.
Kate ran her eyes over the note once more.
Alex is a "dodger"! I wonder, I wonder, what is it that he is good at? Only "skill", or what? It sounds a bit cheesy, although the inevitability of "playing on someone else's field," and in fact, blindly, slightly put Beckett at a standstill. What to do in such a controversial situation? What better course of action? Should she set the bar herself, or risk submitting? Perhaps this was just the most difficult, and difficult to do, because knowing herself, she was morally unprepared for such, even if temporary turn of events. There were a hundred reasons for refusal, if it weren't for one "but..." Lainey's frowning face and sad, lost look came into view, and these inappropriate thoughts were immediately dismissed. Okay, fine. She'll do it, for Lainie's sake and her good mood. Wouldn't neglect to genuinely care, giving her friend pleasure, but herself?
Kate shrugged her shoulders indifferently. She'd been surrounded by loneliness for so long that Beckett wasn't expecting any drastic changes from a passing encounter. So, some light entertainment in the spirit of turbulent youth, and no love, soul-searching, or mere physical dependence on anyone else. One hundred years old, she's an adult, and she's not afraid of sex, no matter how weird, raunchy, and violative of recognized canons it may be. It's simple - in, out, out. No confession of feelings, no frankness, no openness in intentions and actions. She's on her own and her date is on his own. After all, she's not the one getting paid, he is.
Chuckling at her own caustic sarcasm, Kate scurried home. She tucked her papers into the safe and strode to the elevator, unhurriedly, with undisguised pride. First home, to clean herself up, rejecting the stupidest prejudices along the way. She was not the only one, shameless for an hour, and there were other sinners, cooler. But what should she call herself? A discreet name that wouldn't be too memorable... Kate scratched her temple in thought. She couldn't think of anything good, and Beckett frowned her eyebrows, shook her head, moved her lips, trying names she knew, until at the car, she finally settled on "Evelyn. Why? Sounds nice, unpretentious, and even pretty, but necessarily with a face-patch.