Shout-Outs: Sssssy, WillySpooky, Milka, Jane Doe51, Guest and LouiseKurylo

Author's Note:

I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. Yesterday was completely hectic and I didn't get a chance to put it up before I had to leave for the evening.

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Chapter 3

"Your girlfriend's in the bullpen," Rigsby said to Patrick the next day.

Patrick dunked his teabag and rolled his eyes. "She is not my girlfriend!"

"Okay! Your friend who is a girl is in the bullpen," Rigsby corrected himself.

"Did she say what she wanted?"

"Nope. She just said she wanted to see you," Rigsby answered.

"Okay, I'm coming," Patrick said, following him out into the bullpen.

Teresa was standing by the elevators and shifting from foot-to-foot while Grace Van Pelt chatted with her. She smiled when she saw him coming and Van Pelt murmured something about going to finish filing a report.

"Hello Teresa," Patrick said. "What have I done for the pleasure of your presence today?"

"I was just stopping in on my way to go shopping," Teresa answered. "Mostly because I have a favor to ask."

"Okay. . ."

"My father gave me tickets to the opera tonight and I was wondering if it was too soon in the friendship to ask you to accompany me."

"It depends," Patrick answered, taking a sip of tea. "What opera is it?"

"I think it was Tortandot."

"Turandot?" Patrick corrected with amusement.

"Yes!" Teresa replied. "That's exactly it! I know it's kind of a weird request, but I've never been to the opera and you seem like the kind of person who's been to the opera before. So, I thought it would be nice to go for the first time with somebody who's already experienced it."

Patrick looked across the room and saw Bosco staring at them with interest. He took another sip of tea and nodded before answering. "You're in luck; I haven't sent my tuxedo to the dry cleaner's yet."

"Does that mean you'll go with me then?" Teresa asked hopefully.

"Yes," Patrick answered. "When does the opera start?"

"Eight."

"I'll see you at seven-thirty then," Patrick answered.

Teresa beamed. "Until seven-thirty then. Now if you'd excuse me, I have to go and find a dress."

Patrick laughed at her obviousness as she got back onto the elevator and pressed the lobby button. He had to admit that she was one of the most adorable creatures that he had ever met.

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She was waiting for him at the theater, she was clad in a little black dress that actually fit her and a chunky pearl necklace he was almost certain that the salesgirl had talked her into buying along with the black pumps. Her dark hair had been pulled away from her face a la Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's and she was wearing a bold shade of red lipstick.

"Hello Teresa," he said as he approached her.

"Hello Patrick," she answered, smiling at him. "How are you this evening?"

"Fine," Patrick replied. "You're looking well tonight."

"You don't look so bad yourself," Teresa said, offering him her arm. "Shall we go in?"

He took her arm. "Why not?"

They showed their tickets and were directed to the balcony where they got programs and settled in, listening to the orchestra tune up their instruments as Patrick told her the general storyline of Turandot because he'd seen it before. Before they knew it, the lights were being dimmed and the opera was beginning.

By the time the intermission rolled around, Teresa didn't want to move, she was so entranced by the story unfolding in front of her. But Patrick was steering her out and saying something about a glass of wine while they waited for the next act to begin.

He got them each a glass of sparkling Moscato and they found a quiet corner to sit in while they waited when a woman in a low-cut purple dress that left little to the imagination in way of her augmented breasts intercepted them.

"Patrick Jane! I thought that was you!" She gushed in a southern accent. "I told Charlie as soon as I saw you come into the theater that it was you. But he didn't believe me; it's been so long since we've seen you out at events like this. You haven't been to the theater since before Charlotte died, isn't that right? Everybody's been wondering how you've been, but you've dropped off the face of the earth. I had lunch with Angela yesterday and even she couldn't tell me where you were. . ."

Teresa didn't think she was going to stop and draw a breath, but she did and turned her attentions on her.

She smiled at Patrick's old friend and swirled her wine around the glass, her stomach knotting under her scrutiny.

She raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow and frowned. "And who is this?"

Patrick sighed. "Scarlett, this is Teresa Lisbon. Teresa Lisbon, this is Scarlett Fenton. Angela and I were friends with her and her husband Charlie a very long time ago."

"It was only three years ago!" Scarlett snapped, obviously put out by his snub. "Who is she? Are you dating her?"

Teresa shook her head. "Not that this is any of your business but we're not dating. No, we're just friends."

"Not that it matters anyways," Patrick interjected. "Did you forget that Angela was the one who wanted to divorce me, Scarlett? Or has she told you a different version of events? I don't think she has, I think she's kept the whole thing pretty much to herself and you're drawing your own conclusions. Come on Teresa, let's go somewhere else."

He took her wrist and dragged her away, leaving Scarlett to stare after them, her mouth hanging open as they disappeared.

"Do you really think you should treat your friend like that?" Teresa asked.

"That busybody is not my friend!" Patrick spat out in disgust. "She never really has been. She was always friends with Angela. I never really cared for her though."

"Oh. . ." Teresa trailed off. "I am sorry. . ."

"Don't be! You didn't know. . . I didn't know, although maybe I should have. Scarlett and Charlie are always looking to be in the society section of the newspaper. Wait, let me take that back, Scarlett is always looking to be in the society section. Charlie, the poor man, is just spineless and goes along with whatever is wife says."

"Oh. . ."

A bell dinged, signaling the end of the intermission. Patrick took Teresa's wineglass, still full and brought it the counter before coming back and escorting her back to their seats.

The lights went down but this time instead of getting lost in the beauty of the music and the passion of the performers, all she could think about was their run-in with Patrick's friends from his old life and his reaction to it. She stole a glance at him in the dim stage lights, his concentration was gone too. She wanted to suggest that they leave but she couldn't form the words.

As the opera progressed, a sick feeling grew in the pit of her stomach and she was certain that she had lost a friend even before the friendship had gotten a chance to progress. And then it was all over, they applauded with the crowd even though she knew neither of them had been fully engaged in the rest of the show.

"Are you hungry?" Patrick asked as they left the theater with the throngs of opera-goers and exited out into the balmy June evening.

Teresa looked at him in surprise and then nodded. "I could eat."

"I know a place that serves the best ice cream," Patrick said. "Why don't you follow me over and I'll treat you to a sundae?"

"Really?"

"Yes. I know you've been worried all night, but I don't blame you. You didn't know about Scarlett. It wasn't your fault, I'm only sorry that your night was ruined. We'll have to come to the opera again sometime."

Teresa smiled at him and nodded. "Okay."

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The next day, Teresa was working on the community garden she had planted in her apartment complex when a tall, skinny, elegantly-dressed woman approached her.

"Excuse me, are you Teresa Lisbon?" She asked.

Teresa looked up, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her faded jeans, white spaghetti strap tank top, old Chucks and the red bandana that was keeping her hair from getting in her face. Because she knew from all the tabloids that the woman standing in front of her was Angela Ruskins Jane.

She stood up and wiped her grimy hands off on her jeans. "I am you must be Angela."

Angela nodded. "Yes."

Teresa shifted uncomfortably and then smiled. "I was just about to take a break. Would you like to join me for some iced coffee?"

"Oh. . . I don't know," Angela answered. "I don't make it a habit to sit down and be friendly with my ex-husband's new girlfriends."

Teresa exhaled, she knew Scarlett had called Angela and told her all about running into them at the opera. She closed her eyes and counted to ten.

"Has Patrick had a lot of girlfriends?" Teresa asked after a beat.

Angela shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I haven't talked to him since we finalized our divorce. I mean, you're the first girl I've heard about him being with. . . ever. Scarlett said. . . and I just wanted to see for myself."

Teresa looked Angela over again and zoned in on the Harry-Winston engagement ring on her left finger. She cleared her throat, using the piece of jewelry to her advantage. "If you're seeing somebody new, why does it matter if Patrick is?"

Angela bristled. "I didn't say it was," she answered icily.

Teresa smiled, making sure it was friendly. "Why don't you come in and have a glass of iced coffee? It's a lot cooler inside and a lot more comfortable for a chat. I am assuming you came to chat, or did you just come to see what I'm assuming your friend said was your replacement?"

"Scarlett. . ."

"I am sure all of your fears have been taken care of Mrs. Jane," Teresa continued. "As you can see, I am not half as pretty as you are. And I'm just his friend, your husband still isn't over you or what he lost when your daughter died and you divorced him."

"He isn't my husband anymore," Angela answered. "We've been divorced for a year,

I'm engaged to somebody else."

"Then why are you here?" Teresa asked. "You obviously don't want him back. And I am sure you didn't come all this way to wish us well or to warn me not to hurt him."

Angela was silent.

"You wanted to make sure you were the best he ever had. Well, let me assure you, you probably were because he isn't interested."

"So, you offered then?" Angela asked.

"The only thing I've offered Patrick is my friendship. I have money, I don't need his. And I am perfectly content to live out of the spotlight."

Angela snorted. "He already has a spotlight on him anymore. Not since he started working for that California Bureau of Investigation."

"And it's fine with me. I've never really cared much for fame, the fortune I cannot escape though. Now since you don't have a good reason for this visit, I would like to go now."

She walked away and tripped over her feet, realizing that her pulse had picked up and she was seeing stars. She collapsed on the steps leading into her apartment and took a deep breath to steady herself. She sat there until mosquitos started to bite her and her older neighbor Mrs. Smith came out to see if she was okay.

When she didn't answer, Mrs. Smith helped her to her feet and brought her to her apartment.

Perry Como was playing on the record player and it smelled like Chanel No. 5 and fresh chocolate chip cookies. A jack Russell terrier was napping on the couch and all the windows were open.

"Martha!" Mrs. Smith called as she ushered Teresa into a chair. "Martha, darling, will you please come here for a moment!?"

Martha, the housemaid apparently, came out from the kitchen with a mop in her hand. "Yes, Mrs. Smith?"

"Will you please go get the calamine lotion for Miss Lisbon here? She is covered in mosquito bites. And after that, go ahead and make her a glass of chocolate milk. I think she has had a shock, she could use some sugar."

"Of course Mrs. Smith, I'll be right back Miss Lisbon," Martha answered.

A few minutes later, Martha came out with a tray that had chocolate chip cookies, chocolate milk, bowlful of cotton balls and a bottle of calamine lotion on it.

"Thank you Martha, I'll handle it from here," Mrs. Smith said, taking the tray from her maid and putting it on the coffee table. "Here darling, drink this."

Teresa took the glass from her and took a sip, she felt like she was too old to drink chocolate milk, but in that moment it was exactly what the doctor ordered and as she gulped it, she felt a little bit like herself again.

In fact, with Mrs. Smith fussing over her and the Perry Como record playing; it was almost like being back at her grandparents' house when she was a little girl. She scratched a mosquito bite and put her empty glass down.

"Martha!" Mrs. Smith called again.

It was like Martha was anticipating what she would ask for; she appeared with a fresh glass of chocolate milk and took the empty one away.

Teresa released a deep breath and looked at Mrs. Smith, who had taken a seat next to her and was dabbing pink lotion on the raised bites.

"What happened darling?" Mrs. Smith asked when she was sure that the young girl could talk again.

"I don't know," Teresa answered. "I was working in the vegetable garden when his ex-wife showed up. And all she wanted to do was scrutinize me. . . to see if I was better than her or something like that. I don't know."

"Whose ex-wife came dear?" Mrs. Smith asked.

"Patrick's," Teresa replied, taking another sip of chocolate milk and reaching for a cookie.

Mrs. Smith looked interested. "Oh? Is Patrick your boyfriend?"

Teresa laughed. "No. Patrick is just. . . he's somebody met three days ago and I think we're just going to be friends."

"Oh, I see. You are a brave girl, aren't you?"

"Am I?" Teresa asked. "Would a brave girl react like this after standing up to somebody?"

"I think it would depend on the situation," Mrs. Smith answered.

"She doesn't even want him anymore," Teresa told her, shocked that she was opening up so easily to the woman sitting next to her but the words were pouring out and she couldn't stop them. "She's engaged to somebody new, you see. And now I'm not even sure why she came. I thought it was because she wanted to see if I was. . . as pretty as her."

Mrs. Smith dropped the used cotton ball onto the tray. "Well, are you?"

Teresa shook her head. "No."

"I honestly do not believe that for a second!" Mrs. Smith said, capping the calamine lotion and patting her knee, inspite of the dirt that was creeping up on the denim. "Now, go and get cleaned up then call your young man and forget that you saw her today."

"He isn't my young man," Teresa told her as she got to her feet and Mrs. Smith ushered her out of the door.

Mrs. Smith smiled. "Come back and see me again. Myrna Loy is going to have her puppies soon, you can have your pick of the litter, if you'd like."

"Okay," Teresa agreed. "Thank you for helping me out.

"No problem darling," Mrs. Smith answered. "Don't be a stranger. In fact, we should all have dinner really soon."

Then she shut the door and left Teresa all alone.

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Teresa went to her apartment and changed out of her gardening clothes; she got into the shower and tried not to think about the last twenty-four hours. But it stayed in her head, playing on an endless loop. Angela and Scarlett's faces seemed to be etched in her brain.

She got out of the shower and dressed in a sundress with sunflowers splashed on it. She slipped into sandals and braided her hair; fully intent on going to the CBI to see Patrick and tell him that maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to continue on towards friendship.

She was locking her apartment door when a hand on her shoulder startled her; she whirled around and saw Patrick looking at her with confusion.

"Patrick. . . how. . ."

"I looked up your address in the Yellow Pages," he answered. "Could we go for a walk? I need somebody to talk to."

Teresa nodded. "Um, sure. There's a park across the street. We can take a walk there."

TBC. . .

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Author's Note II:

I hope you enjoyed this installment of They Meet. I've had general plot of this chapter planned for almost two years now. Some things changed, like Mrs. Smith. She wasn't a character at all up until a few days before I wrote it. Anyways, please tell me what you think. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts!

Love,

Holly, 1/17/2015_