It's Brenda's turn to invite Sharon to do something. She's thinking about it and realizes that so far it's really only been Sharon reaching out. Meeting her to run laps, inviting her to the dinner and then to the movies. The movies had been the most successful outing so far. They'd spent the majority of it in silence and had gone straight home afterwards. Actually there had been a few enjoyable moments - sharing popcorn, listening to Sharon laugh. She didn't just laugh like a normal person, she tried to hold it in, maybe, so it always came out as a little snort. It was strangely endearing. And also, it made Brenda kind of desperate to hear her real laugh. Wouldn't that be a feat?
So now it's Wednesday morning and she's thinking about what they could do, how they could spend a sociable hour or two interacting in a way that didn't end up in bickering. She's still trying to decide if she could survive a shopping trip with Sharon when her cell phone starts to ring.
The caller I.D. says Major Crimes which means someone is calling her from a desk phone. That's unusual. But then, it's unusual that they should call at all. She picks up the phone and swipes.
"Chief Investigator Johnson," she answers. She expects Sharon, expects some prim and prissy reason for the call like, "You left your sweater in my vehicle" though she hadn't or "I gained half a pound from one handful of popcorn, I'm suing you" or something. She braces for the worst, anyway.
"Brenda? It's Rusty."
"Rusty!" she says. "Hi. Everything okay?"
"Yeah," he says. "I hope I'm not interrupting or anything."
She glances at the clock - there's nothing on her schedule besides desk work until the afternoon. "No, not at all."
"So I know this is kind of a long shot but… do you want to get lunch today?" he asks.
She's glad he can't see the surprise on her face. But then, this is probably Sharon's idea.
"Lunch," she says. "Um, I think that I could do that today."
"It's just, I was supposed to eat with Sharon but they all just left to look at some dead person in Griffith Park - not my favorite place, as you'll recall. So now I'm just like here and bored."
"Good enough for me," she says. "Where were you thinking?"
"That cafe where you all get coffee does pretty good sandwiches," he says. "You know where the deli used to be? But now it's a cafe."
"I know where you mean," she assures him. "I can be there at 12:30. Work for you, kiddo?"
"Yeah," he says. "Cool. See you there."
It's a walkable distance which is good because she's in more than just kitten heels today. While the actual District Attorney for Los Angeles is a woman, when she has high level meetings like the one scheduled for later today, it's almost always mostly men so she favors a higher heel. They look down on her enough without having them actually looking down at her. And they pay more attention to her if she looks like she's out for a little blood. Bold colors, no florals. There's a time for being underestimated but a policy meeting isn't one of them.
Fritz had complained once about her dressing up for Will. She'd needed something from him, some extravagant expense that he wasn't willing to authorize so she'd put on a dress that she knew he liked, wore her hair up because he'd once use to relish in pulling out the pins and watching it fall.
"It's just a costume," Fritz had said in accusation. Brenda had, at the time, thought that a particularly naive observation on her husband's behalf.
"Of course it is," Brenda had said. "You think the slinky lingerie I wear for you is my true self revealed?" His face had slackened with hurt but it had nipped the fight in the bud for the moment while he regrouped to figure out a new strategy to make her feel not good enough. Besides, why did someone like Fritz wear a gray suit for years, why did he wear a police uniform now? Why did she wear dark dresses with high necks to interview religious conservatives and deep v-necks to interview oblivious fraternity boys? To get what she wanted. To put on a play.
She'd worn that red dress instead of a power suit to her meeting with the mayor when she was being considered for Chief of Police to get what she'd wanted and it had worked two-fold. She hadn't gotten the job but she had gotten Sharon Raydor's attention. Had pleased the woman by looking beautiful and fierce and had bought herself a little cooperation from Internal Affairs in the process.
Today's dress is tight, cut well and is a dark gray but her shoes are a bright pop of red, just enough.
She's a little late to the cafe, five minutes, maybe. The place is busy but she find's Rusty at the counter and he has saved her a stool, a small miracle around this time of day. She slips onto it, greets him with a smile but doesn't touch him. She's seen Sharon hug Rusty and he always stiffens against the contact before making himself relax and hugging her back. It's a clear sign of past abuse and anyway, she's not much of a hugger either.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi," he replies. "I had to kill a guy to save you that spot."
"Good thing your mama's out on another murder, then," she says, reaching for a menu. "Why aren't you in school?"
"I'm a grown up?" he asks. She narrows her eyes. "Summer session just started," he amends. "I'm only taking one class."
"And workin' on Lieutenant Tao's show, too, right?"
"Badge of Justice is on hiatus right now," Rusty says. "Jonny Worth wanted to film a movie in Vancouver so we broke early to accommodate that."
"So what are you doin' all day?" she asks.
"Daytime TV isn't so bad once you get used to it," he says. "Today was supposed to be lunch with Sharon but you know how that is."
"Huh," she says. She has an idea, a little one. It might make Sharon like her. It might also drive home that last nail into the coffin of this ill-conceived attempt at friendship. Either way, something could change. "You're eighteen?"
"Nineteen," he says.
"And are you full-time or part-time at your school?"
"Um," he says, getting suspicious now. "Well, full-time during the normal semester, I guess."
"You have a car?" Brenda says. "But with me and your mama, that'd be easy to get around, I s'pose."
"Get around what?" he says. "What would be easy?"
"If you came to work for me," she says.
"Seriously?"
"We have an internship program, I can pull a few strings," she says. "Pays not great but it's more than you'll make flippin' burgers."
"What kind of stuff would I do?" he asks.
"Research," she says. "Clerical work - filing and answering phones and stuff."
"Getting you coffee?" he says.
"Maybe," she grins.
"Not so different from being a production assistant," he says.
"Lawyers and actors both have huge egos," she says bringing her focus back to the menu. "How's the chicken salad?"
"What do you think Sharon will say?" he asks.
"It's a good opportunity, it'll look good on your résumé and get you outta her house for at least twenty hours a week," Brenda says. "On the other hand, it's me, so she'll probably hate it."
Someone finally comes over so Brenda orders her sandwich and Rusty orders his.
"Sharon likes you," Rusty says.
Brenda laughs loudly, surprised.
"She does!" he says. "She wouldn't bother seeing you if she didn't."
"She can barely stand me," Brenda says. "It's okay. I get it. It's… hard to change your first impression of someone in the end, I guess."
"So you don't like her either?" he asks.
"I do," she says. "I think she's really smart and capable and I respect that."
"And you thought that from the first time you met her?" he prods.
"Well…"
"Trust me," Rusty says. "I've seen her with people she doesn't like. If she really didn't like you, you wouldn't get five minutes."
"That's good to hear," she says.
"She's just… maybe she needs to be wooed a little," he says.
"Yeah, we'll see," Brenda says. "Let's just see what she has to say about you workin' for the District Attorney's office."
oooo
It's Friday night and Brenda is happily home alone, sitting on her kitchen counter eating ice cream out of the carton. She may never bother with a bowl again, who'll know besides herself and her mother's tutting voice in her head?
But then there's a knock on her door.
She freezes, looks up in alarm.
"Please don't be Fritz," she whispers, shoving the ice cream into the freezer, spoon and all. Fritz has never been over to this little apartment because she has expressly never invited him. She likes this little space, her wildly colorful decorating, her dishes in the sink and clean laundry still in the basket. She doesn't want to see him look around, disappointed but unsurprised.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and opens the door.
"Oh thank god," she says.
Sharon raises one eyebrow. "I guess you aren't mad that I came over unannounced."
"No," Brenda says. "I'm glad you aren't Fritz."
"Ah," Sharon says.
"What's the matter, you need a cup of sugar or something?" Brenda asks, stepping aside to let Sharon in. She clearly is still dressed for work, slacks today and a silk blouse and a blazer.
Sharon gives her a look, sarcasm and suffering all rolled into one nuanced expression.
"Oh!" Brenda says. "Oh, I'm in trouble, aren't I?"
"Now why-"
"Wait, wait," Brenda says, waving her hands in the air. "Before you yell at me. You want some wine or something?"
"I'm not here to yell at you!" Sharon says. "But I will drink wine."
"Have a seat," Brenda says, turning to the kitchen. "I just have red."
"That's fine," Sharon says, setting her purse onto the coffee table and lowering herself on to the sofa.
Brenda pulls two glasses from the dishrack and inspects the rims for lipstick - she'd just die - but they seem clean so she tucks a half full wine bottle under her arm and carries everything to the coffee table. She's already pulled the cork out with her teeth when she realizes probably that's uncouth but Sharon doesn't say anything until Brenda hands her the wine and she murmurs, "Thanks."
"Now," Brenda says. "What'd I do?"
Sharon leans forward. "A good thing, Brenda. I came to thank you."
Brenda sits hard on the rocking chair. "You did?"
"For Rusty," Sharon says. "He told me you got him into your internship program. He filled out the paperwork already. He hates paperwork!"
"Oh," Brenda says. Sharon reaches into her bag and pulls out a folder. The paperwork. "Good. Good, then."
"Yes," Sharon says.
"He's actually… you know we usually get the grandkids of lawyers… these smarmy ivy league boys who come to work in sports cars and spend all day on their smart phones. Someone like Rusty will actually, I dunno, do work."
"I agree," Sharon says. "But someone like Rusty, as you say, isn't always given the opportunity. So thank you."
"You're welcome," she says. Sharon sets the folder gently onto the coffee table next to the wine.
"Have you eaten?" Sharon asks. "Because I haven't."
"No," Brenda says. "Well. Not dinner."
"Candy?"
"No!" she says.
"Cake?"
"No!"
"Ice cream?"
Brenda sighs. "Shut up."
Sharon laughs - not a full out throaty laugh but a real one, close to what Brenda had heard in the movie theater that day and it feels good.
Sharon might be dressed to go out, but Brenda is in pajama pants and her cream colored sweater.
"I could order something?" Brenda says.
"Oh, it's all right," Sharon says. "I can go home."
"No," Brenda says. "Stay. We can, um… do something. I don't know. I don't have a television, I usually just watch on the computer."
"We don't have to do anything, we can just talk to one another," Sharon says. "Friends do that, right?"
"Yeah," Brenda says. "I guess so."
Sharon ends up choosing from the big stack of take out menus that Brenda keeps in an otherwise empty drawer in her kitchen.
"I didn't know you could get Mexican food delivered," Sharon says.
"You can get anything delivered in this town," Brenda says happily. "And if you tip the delivery guy enough, he'll stop and pick up a pie on the way."
"Wow," Sharon says. "I'd never think to even ask."
"Oh, I always ask," Brenda says. "The worst thing they can do is say no, right?"
Sharon smirks a little and it's the first time Brenda has seen Sharon look at her with fondness - nothing else lurking underneath.
"What's Rusty doin' this evening?" she asks.
"Out, I think. He worked all day on his application so I figured why not? I told him I'd bring it over." Sharon shifts a little in her seat. "I really should've called but I was worried you'd say no."
"I'm in no position to turn anything down from you," Brenda says with a chuckle. "You're my only friend."
"And Rusty," Sharon says.
"Okay, my only friend over the drinking age," she amends.
Sharon excuses herself to use the restroom, Brenda tops off their wine and goes about clearing things off the little table that is the only real thing that creates separation between the kitchenette and the living space. She closes her computer, shoves it onto the kitchen counter and sweeps everything else into another empty kitchen drawer. She just doesn't have a lot of kitchen things - what is she gonna do, cook? - so filling her drawers with old mail and pay stubs and that lip gloss that gets too sticky on windy days is fine.
She doesn't have placemats but she wipes the table clean with a damp paper towel and puts out some plates and some silverware and pours them some water, too. When Sharon comes back out she smiles at the effort, kicks off her heels and leaves them on the rug in the living room. Something loosens in Brenda's chest, the feeling she used to get when she got an A on a test or passed a job interview. Relief, approval, validation. Sharon's opinion means something to her now.
They still have to wait around for the food and so they go back to their couch, wine in hand, and finally, after some silence, Sharon says, "I had a really bad day."
Here it is, Brenda thinks. The real reason she's here.
"Tell me all about it," Brenda says.
"We pulled a tough case," she says. "Found a little girl too late."
There's not a lot that Brenda can say to make her feel better. There's no better, really, only distance and time. Eventually, Sharon will wake up and not think about that girl first thing, eventually something else will come along that steals her attention. Maybe something better, probably something worse.
"That's shitty," Brenda says.
"Really shitty," Sharon agrees. "I just - I'm not as good at compartmentalizing everything away like I thought I'd be."
"No one is with the kids." Brenda sets her wine glass down, tucks her feet up under her. "You just go home. Have a drink. Talk to a friend." Brenda tilts her head. "This."
"I mean, she was so little. Little enough to fit inside…" She shakes her head, two quick jerks and Brenda is left forever wondering. "So… so little," Sharon says pressing her fingers to her mouth.
"Did you close the case?" Brenda asks.
"The only good news," Sharon says, clearing her throat. "Relatively routine as far as evidence was concerned. We just followed the trail."
"Good," Brenda says. She tries to think about all the times she'd come home, bereft from some heinous act. What had Fritz done to try to make her feel better? In the beginning it had been mostly this - a glass of wine and just to listen to her. Then, later, sex. And then nothing at all. He'd been tired of hearing about it so he'd left her alone or gone to a meeting or just changed the subject. She thinks about offering Sharon something else - not sex, obviously, but something past wine and empty condolences.
"If I were younger, I'd just go out to a bar and get really drunk," Sharon blurts. Brenda's eyes widen as she tries to imagine someone so buttoned up sloppy and slurring.
"I can get you drunk," Brenda says.
"I don't want to get drunk on wine," Sharon says. "The hangover would kill me."
"I never used to buy alcohol because Fritz… well, he was allergic, but when I first moved in I bought a bunch of stuff," Brenda says, standing and moving to the cupboard over the little refrigerator. She's just tall enough to get it open and then stands back. "Vodka or light rum," she says. "I'm not much of a whiskey drinker, unfortunately, but I think there's some butterscotch schnapps."
"Wow," Sharon says.
"I know," Brenda says dryly. "I bought it all before realizing that sitting alone in your tiny apartment and getting hammered is not actually a healthy thing to do."
"Sitting alone in a bar isn't either," Sharon says.
"Well a beauty queen like you wouldn't be alone for long," Brenda says. And then, "Oh! That's what you meant, isn't it?"
Sharon has the good graces to dip her head a little, her cheeks coloring. "I'm too old for all that now, Brenda, plus I don't live alone anymore."
"You aren't too old for anything," Brenda says, dragging her chair loudly across the kitchen tile and then climbing up onto it to look into her liquor cabinet.
The doorbell makes a clanky metallic noise, not exactly a gentle sound. Brenda turns and looks at Sharon who is already rising to her feet.
"My purse is by the door if they need to see the credit card," Brenda says. She reaches for the vodka - Absolut because it had been on sale and then hops down, pushing the chair out of the way to open the refrigerator door and pull out the lemonade. She can hear the exchange at the door - the passing of plastic bags and Sharon thanking the delivery person.
"I just signed your name," she says, setting the food on the table.
"You rebel," Brenda says. She opens the cupboard with plates and pulls open the drawer with utensils in an invitation while she pulls out two shot glasses and two regular sized cups. She lines everything up on the table, even the wine glasses, from small to large while Sharon pulls plates and forks and goes about plating her enchiladas and Brenda's chimichanga. "Are there limes?"
"Wedges, yes," Sharon says.
"Good, give 'em here," she says. Sharon eyes her set up warily but pushes the small round container of limes over to her. She watches Brenda squeeze a wedge into each shot glass and then fill the rest with vodka. Then, she adds vodka and ice to the larger cups but it's way more than a single shot per cup. She puts in at least two each and then tops it off with lemonade.
"Brenda…" Sharon says uneasily.
"Shhh," Brenda says waving her hand in the air. "The shots are for now and then we can have the rest while we eat."
"I just," she says. "I'm kind of a lightweight."
"Well good, because this isn't very much." Brenda smiles at her, glad she can finally bring something to the table of this friendship. She may not always be on time or like swimming or have the most interesting job. She may not have her life together anymore, but she can get a lady drunk and make it into a good time. That's a skill that never atrophies.
Sharon makes a concerned noise in her throat.
"Let me guess, you weren't really a party girl in college? Weren't in a sorority?" Brenda asks.
Sharon shakes her head, no. "I did homework, mostly," Sharon says.
"Well, I did both," Brenda says. She pushes one of the shots toward Sharon.
"Also I was married to an alcoholic," Sharon points out. "As were you."
"Yes, though, they aren't here, are they?" Brenda asks. "Go on, pick it up."
"I go to a bar," Sharon says, picking up the shot glass with her thumb and pointer finger, her pinky sticking out into the air. "I order a scotch, neat. I sip it for an hour. I go home. That is my routine for going to a bar and having a drink on a bad day."
Brenda snorts. "Is there anything you don't have a routine for?"
Sharon seems to think for a moment, lifts one eyebrow and says, "Sex."
Then she throws the shot back and bangs the shot glass down on the table.
Brenda feels her mouth fall open and heat crawl up her neck. Sharon smirks and the heat spreads to Brenda's cheeks, down her arms and across her thighs.
"I must say," Brenda says, finally, when she finds her voice, "I find it hard to believe that you could sit in a bar for an hour and every man in the place wouldn't come up to you. And half the women!"
Sharon shrugs and just says, "Take your shot, Brenda Leigh."
The only person who still calls her that, besides herself, is her daddy. And her mama, in her head. Her mama is mysteriously absent now, maybe appalled at her daughter for taking shots and eating deep fried burritos, or maybe happy enough that Brenda has made a friend. It usually bothers her to hear her full name out of the mouth of a Yankee - Fritz had only called her that a few times before she'd asked him not to anymore.
"But it's your name," he'd said, confused. She didn't know how to explain that it was a term of endearment not meant for him. That her mama had given her a pageant girl name, something she should've hated, but made it sound like love.
But it doesn't rankle now, out of the mouth of the sassiest version of Sharon Raydor she's ever seen. So she does as she's told, tips her head back, takes the shot - tangy and warm all the way down.
oooo
Brenda can't fall asleep because every time she reclines flat, the room starts to spin. So she stays up, carries her computer into her bedroom and mindlessly surfs, looks at work emails but doesn't reply to anything because she's still pretty drunk and she's afraid it will show.
It's still dark when she finally goes out to check on Sharon who'd tried to walk home alone. Brenda had put a stop to that, had given her a soft pair of shorts to sleep in and a University of Georgetown t-shirt, too. The light over the oven is the only illumination not coming from the open door of the bedroom. At some point, Brenda had opened all the windows to let the cool night air in and she can hear cars now and a few faint voices coming from the street. Music coming from another unit, faint enough that she can't name the tune.
Sharon is asleep on the small couch, had scoffed - even drunkenly - at the notion of taking Brenda's bed.
"I'll just get a few hours and go home," she'd said, curling up onto the cushions, her arm tucked under her head. Brenda had watched jealously, then, as she seemed to fall asleep with no trouble at all. Just closed her eyes and was out. She didn't have to make it look so easy, Brenda had thought thunderously, at the time. Apparently sleep wasn't a beast that Sharon wrestled with. Sharon made so many difficult things look easy and Brenda tried not to feel taunted by that.
But now, Brenda finds herself strangely grateful for Sharon's heavy sleep, her soft, occasional snore. The couch cushions sink under her weight, the throw blanket that Brenda had provided just a lump on the floor. Brenda walks out from the bedroom slowly, first behind the couch and then around to the front to stand by Sharon's feet and peer down at her. She watches her long enough to detect the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders and chest. To marvel at how inky black her hair looks in the darkness. How long and silvery pale her legs are - she's seen plenty of leg from Sharon but not usually this much thigh and it's all a marvel. What a fascinating woman, Brenda can admit to herself, the only person awake in the room. What sort of paradoxical life makes someone so beautiful and so rigidly cold?
But then, Brenda is beginning to think that maybe she's been wrong about Sharon this entire time. Not cold, not rigid, just reserved and careful. She'd heard Sharon laugh tonight, her real laugh, deep and throaty, her green eyes wide like the laughter surprised her, as well. Like it had been so long, she'd forgotten her body could endure such an act.
Sharon has fallen asleep with her glasses on and Brenda reaches out and pulls the dark frames from her face. They slide away easily enough and Sharon doesn't stir. She folds them up and leaves them on the coffee table, picks the blanket up off of the floor and covers up those long, bare legs.
Maybe, Brenda thinks, she can sleep now.
oooo
Brenda invites Sharon to go get a pedicure with her but is suspicious when she says yes. It's not the fact that she agrees to go - they always begrudgingly agree to go on these weird outings, it's the way that she smiles when she says, "Sure! That sounds fun!"
"It does?" Brenda asks. They're outside at the coffee shop that's sort of between their buildings. Brenda doesn't always stop here and she knows the coffee is decent enough in the break room at Major Crimes but she'd walked in and there Sharon was, all dark hair and white legs waiting in the line that was long enough to snake out the door. Sharon had sighed as if put upon when Brenda sidled up to her and joined her in her premium spot in the line but had also let Brenda purchase her vanilla nonfat latte.
"Felt like something sweet," Sharon had said by way of explaining their run-in.
Now they're standing outside on the sidewalk in the sunshine, cups warm in their hands, putting off the inevitable workday. And Sharon is smiling like she thinks the idea of getting their toes painted at the same time while sitting next to one another is a brilliant one.
"Okay," Brenda says. "How about Saturday?"
"I'll make an appointment," Sharon says, reaching out to lay a hand on Brenda's forearm. "I know a place."
"Sure, sure," Brenda says. "I gotta go, but I'll see you this weekend."
The hand on her arm squeezes before it lets go and even though she's the one who'd made the first move to leave, she still stands and watches Sharon walk away, her heels a reassuringly familiar thud on the concrete.
David is hovering around outside her office when she finally gets there, a good ten minutes past nine. She can tell it's a social call because he's got this expression on his face like he's trying to figure out how to say it.
"What?" she says darkly, pushing past him through the door of her office and tossing her bag onto her desk.
"I saw you," he says. "With her."
"What are you talkin' about?" Brenda says.
"Captain Raydor!" David says. "You were fraternizing with her outside The Coffee Bean!"
Internally, Brenda rolls her eyes but she just makes herself look a little guilty and says, "But we tried to be so careful! However did you catch us?"
"Okay," David says, putting his hands up, his palms to Brenda. "Make fun of me, but she's the one who-"
"No, she isn't," Brenda says. It's too early for this today, she's just not in the mood. "She's not and you know that and it's been over two years! Are you saying you haven't spoken to anyone in Major Crimes for over two years?"
"They don't want to talk to me, trust me," David says.
"That ain't true!" she says. "They don't blame you-"
"Yes, they do," he says.
She huffs. "Sharon and I are friendly, that's all, and what are you doing watchin' me anyway?"
"Watching out for you," he says. "Not creepy like how you make it sound. And since when are you friends with her? You hate her!"
Brenda shrugs. "She's not so bad once you get to know her."
"A ringing endorsement," he says dryly.
"Aren't you late for work?" she asks. "Shoo."
"Fine but I'm coming back at lunch and we're talking about this some more," he says.
"You used to respect me more, I think," she says. "I used to be your Chief."
"You're still the Chief!" he says. "I literally still call you Chief!"
"Yeah, but it doesn't feel the same," she says, plopping into her chair.
"See you at lunch, Chief," he says.
oooo
Sharon's nail place is fancy and Brenda's not surprised. She goes to a hole in the wall one in a strip mall wedged between a mexican food place and store front where a person can cash their own checks if so inclined. Sharon's nail place is a salon with small crystal chandeliers that hang over each station and instead of the massage chairs with basins at the bottom, they sit with their feet in galvanized tubs full of warm water and hot stones. The stones are big and smooth and sit perfectly in the arches of her feet.
While they're seated, someone brings them flutes of dry champagne.
"This is… nice," Brenda says.
"What color did you pick?" Sharon asks looking over at the tray by Brenda's chair.
"Pink," she says.
"Hmm."
"Why, what did you pick?" she demands.
"Red," Sharon says.
"Well hmm right back to you," Brenda says. "We like what we like."
Sharon snorts and Brenda knows now that she likes to get under Brenda's skin, likes that Brenda lets her, though not on purpose.
It's not until two women are working on their toes that Sharon says, "Since I've got you here, Brenda, there's something I wanted to ask you."
"I knew it!" Brenda says. "I knew you said yes to this too easily. You want something!"
Sharon sighs. "Fine, yes. I want something though in my defense I would've said yes either way."
"What is it?"
"As you know, I'm the women's coordinator for the LAPD-"
"Still?" she asks.
"Yes," Sharon says.
"How do you have time for that?"
"I prioritize," Sharon says. "Anyway, you also know that we have a banquet every year-"
"You what? I didn't know that!"
"Brenda you were invited for seven years straight!"
"I don't remember goin' to any banquet!"
"Of course not, you never did," Sharon says. "You always had a case, or so your division told me."
"Well, we were busy," she says.
"You were the guest of honor one year and you still didn't come," Sharon says. "But that's water under the bridge because this year you will attend." She smiles meanly.
"I was… what? I will? Why on earth would I do that?" Brenda exclaims.
"I'd like you to be the keynote speaker," Sharon says. "You may not work for our force anymore but you're still the highest ranked female member of law enforcement in the city. Probably in L.A. County."
"Yes, but-"
"Plus, your job is as political as anything else, it'd be good for your department as well as mine."
"Right, but-"
"And it be good for your reputation," Sharon says plainly. "And you're my friend."
Brenda sighs, looks down at their feet where the women working on them exchange knowing glances and smirks.
"I mean, I have to say yes, right?" Brenda says. "You used the friendship card."
"I already called over to your office and made sure you were available," Sharon says. "It's in six weeks and the theme is The Women Behind the Badge."
"What the hell does that mean?" Brenda asks. "That's so vague."
"It means that female police officers are people too who deserve support from their peers and to be cared for emotionally as well as physically," Sharon says.
"You want me to get up there and talk about my emotions?" she screeches. "Did you hit your head or somethin'?"
"Brenda, you can talk about whatever you want as long as the message is empowering," Sharon says. "I'll forward all the information to your office, you have plenty of time."
"What do I know about any of this?" she moans. The woman at her feet gives her knee a little pat.
"All done," she says and wheels away. Brenda inspects her toes - pink and shiny and her feet moisturized and massaged.
"Thank you," Brenda manages. This was supposed to be a relaxing activity but now she feels all knotted up.
"We'll go shopping," Sharon says. "It's kind of a fancy affair. We can go to Saks, maybe. Or Neiman Marcus. Make a day of it."
Sharon looks far away now, deep into her plans.
Brenda feels decidedly left behind.