David is still the official liaison to the LAPD so she calls him to her office and Andrea too, because Andrea is still the best lawyer she's ever met. She has Sarah fix a pot of coffee in a silver carafe and has picked up an assortment of pastries and when David and Andrea come in, they both look at the spread suspiciously.
"Oh God," Andrea says. "What did you do?"
"Nothin'!" she says and then hedges. "Well. I just would like your advice on something."
Andrea crosses her arms and Brenda understands why she's such a good trial lawyer. She's pretty and brilliant and more than a little intimidating.
"And David, I called you here to get your perspective as the LAPD liaison," she adds.
"On what?" David asks. "What could I possibly know that you already don't?"
"Have some coffee," Brenda says. Her office has a conference table and she sits in one of the seats, opens her hand to the food. It's good to move away from the desk, she thinks, to show that Brenda isn't the expert here. Andrea shrugs, pours herself a cup and then David does too and they all sit.
"Chief?" Andrea says.
"Brenda," Brenda corrects. "I can't ask you not to say anything about this to the D.A. but I hope a little discretion will be okay." Andrea nods.
"Of course," she says.
"I need to know… I need your opinions on whether or not I even could," Brenda says. "My transition from the LAPD to this office was fast and it was murky, so I'm not sure if I even could…"
"What?" David says. "What? I feel like I'm missing something here."
But Andrea is smart and it doesn't take long for her to put it together.
"This is about Will Pope, isn't it?" she says. Brenda tilts her head, not quite a nod but it's enough. "You think they won't give him another term?"
"I'm not sure," Brenda says. "The job got flashed, it's out there, they're accepting applications nationally."
"Wait, Chief," David says. "Are you going to apply to be Chief of Police? Again?"
"That's what I need to know," Brenda says. "I took this job, in part, to avoid the fallout from what I did to Philip Stroh. Had I stayed on the force, surely there would have been consequences. Censure, I might've been fired. But I left and so I'm not 100% sure what's on my official record and what isn't."
"Record or not," Andrea shrugs. "People know what happened. It'll come up with the Police Commissioners."
"Right," Brenda says. "They love me."
David grimaces but shakes his head. "On the other hand, Stroh just isn't L.A.'s problem anymore," David says. "Or California's."
"Or the United State's," Andrea adds. "Interpol is looking for him. Seems like if everyone had listened to you earlier, he wouldn't have been able to kill again."
"That's certainly one way to spin it," Brenda says.
"The only way," Andrea says. "You'd have to make that really clear. You knew he was a serial rapist from day one and a murderer and that's the kind of keen insight and instinct the Chief of Police should have."
Brenda nods, slides a chocolate muffin toward herself.
"What does Sharon say?" Andrea asks.
Brenda breaks off part of the top of the muffin. Pops it into her mouth and looks up guiltily.
"You haven't told Captain Raydor?" David says. "Who has more than a decade of experience with the Professional Standards Bureau and is your best friend in the world?"
"I'm gonna," Brenda says. "I wanted to talk to you all first."
"Brenda," Andrea says gently. "She's going to know better than we do what your status was when you left."
There's a question there, a big resounding why that Andrea didn't come out and say but Brenda can hear nonetheless. Well, in for a penny…
"If I apply," Brenda says. "If I get it, there'd be some concerns with chain of command."
She shoves another huge piece of the muffin into her mouth and stares hard at the shiny varnished wood of her table. Counts to three in her head and then looks up. Andrea looks mildly puzzled. This time, it's David who solves it. Not at first, but…
"No one can stop you from being friends with her, Chief, that's just OH MY GOD!" he sputters, realization hitting him mid-sentence.
Brenda shoots him a stern look. "I'm not interested in your personal opinion, only your professional one," she says.
"I swore up and down that was just a rumor," David says, ignoring her, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I defended your honor!"
"My honor doesn't need defending, firstly," Brenda says. "And secondly, what rumor?"
"Oh!" Andrea says. "Oh. Poor Lieutenant Flynn!"
"What?" Brenda says. "What does he have to do with anything?"
"Oh, he has a crush on the Captain, that's all," Andrea says, waving her hand once like it doesn't really matter. Brenda will certainly be asking Sharon about that later.
"What rumor?" Brenda demands again.
"Well," David says. "You came to the new years party together and then… you went to the LAPD one as well together, so… conclusions were drawn. People talk."
She stares at him horrified.
"Just because two women are friends-" she sputters. "Not every female in law enforcement is automatically-"
"Of course not," David says. "But you can't get mad five seconds after you tell me it's true!"
"Okay," Andrea says, picking up her paper cup of coffee and standing. "Yes, I think there's a real chance you could get back into the LAPD and you need to talk to Sharon about it. Anything else, I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear."
"It's not getting back in, Andrea, it's the Chief of Police!" Brenda says.
"You had my support the first time, Brenda, you'll have it now, too," she says, kindly. Brenda nods.
"Thank you," she says.
David doesn't leave when she does, just sits and stares sullenly at his boss. "Can we talk about this? Off the record? Off the clock?"
"We can get a drink after work if you want," she says. "We can talk about it."
"Thank you," he says. "I got some questions!" He picks up his coffee too, leans over and snags a cruller before heading for the door, shaking his head and muttering something that sounds distinctly like, "Crazy ass white women."
oooo
They have a regular place they like to go, a restaurant that is halfway a bar. There's always a big afterwork crowd, but they manage to snag a high top table in the lounge. David orders for them both, Brenda's merlot and beer for him. She's a little tired, but David has been a good employee and a better friend and it's somewhat relieving, the idea of telling someone about everything that's been happening to her.
When she'd left Fritz, she was willing to trade anything for her freedom, to get away from that wrong life that didn't fit but freedom is isolating and lonely and now that she has Sharon and Rusty, she finds that friendship is good and important and she thinks she could nurture this one, too. Her and David.
"Okay," David says. "I looked into it and as long as you disclose the relationship up front, they can't ask you to end it, so that's not really going to be an issue."
"Relationship," she says, feeling uneasy. "All right."
"How do you go from hating each other to this?" David asks after Brenda doesn't say anything for awhile. She picks up her wine glass, brings it to her lips. It's the house wine, she can tell. She hadn't specified a label and so this is what she gets. She sets the glass down again, smiles at him.
"I guess you have to ask yourself why you let that person bother you so much in the first place," she says. "Usually when I don't like someone I just ignore them but Sharon… Sharon always got under my skin in the worst way."
"I remember," David says.
"It was Rusty's idea, you know. That we should be friends? And it didn't work at first but at some point we just got used to it and then… and then I realized that I actually kind of liked Sharon. She's really smart and she's got this sort of organized and purposeful way about her that I just find really, um, attractive."
Brenda blushes, turns her head a little.
"I guess I just didn't know you felt that way about women," he says.
"I certainly feel that way about Sharon," she says. "David, if I throw my hat back into the ring for Chief, my life is going to be very closely examined and I don't know if it's gonna hold up. This thing with Sharon is new and it's fragile and I can't ask her and Rusty to live through that! I don't even know if she's willing!"
"If she's not?" David says.
Brenda shakes her head. She can't think about that yet.
Because what Brenda has figured is this: if her heart is a garden, the only thing growing in it, maybe the only thing that has ever grown in it, is Sharon. And if Sharon decides that she doesn't want to be a part of what comes next for Brenda, then Brenda may as well close up shop all together.
"You don't even seem like you want this - why are you even considering it?" David asks.
She sighs. "The Mayor asked me to."
The look on David's face - part jealousy, part surprise - is going to have to wait because her phone is buzzing in her purse. She fishes it out, answers it just in time.
"Hello?" she asks.
"Hi," Sharon says. "Where are you? Are you outside?"
"No, I'm just… I went out with David and it's loud here," she says. She glances at him and he rolls his eyes, picks up his beer and turns slightly away like she's going to need privacy. Like she's going to tell Sharon now, over the phone. She's bad at this, but she's not suicidal.
"Oh, I thought maybe you'd come to dinner," Sharon says.
Panic flares and she searches her memory. "Did I say I was coming to dinner?"
"No," Sharon says. "It's just… Friday night. I thought maybe you'd turn up anyway."
"I can turn up for dessert," Brenda offers.
"Oh, come on!" David says. Brenda rolls her eyes - she'd been being genuine. Like, for cake.
"I don't want to cut your evening short," Sharon says hesitantly.
"You wouldn't be," Brenda assures her.
"It's just that now that Rusty knows, there's no reason you couldn't stay… longer."
"I'll see you in a little while," Brenda promises firmly.
"Here's what I think," David says to her when she hangs up and suddenly he doesn't look like that young cop who'd driven her around that first year. He looks like a man, wiser and careful and ambitious.
"Tell me," Brenda says and she means it.
"Before," he says. "Before Captain Raydor, before we left Major Crimes, you always seemed like you were getting pulled in two directions. Getting pulled apart and then, after you… left… you just seemed sad but lately you've seemed more like… you."
"More like me," she repeats.
"The first time I saw you in an interrogation room - we didn't like you, remember? We didn't trust you, but the first time I saw what you could do it was like watching someone win olympic gold, it was amazing and I could see that underneath all that southern charm and blonde hair there was someone really amazing. And I see that version of you more now." He shakes his head. "I'm not sure I'm saying it right except with Fritz, it seemed like he wanted you to be a specific sort of something and with Captain Raydor, you're just you."
"Thank you," she says.
He nods. "You're welcome."
She picks at the corner of her cardboard coaster.
"Besides, being friends with the Chief of Police, man there's gotta be some perks there," he says.
She nods in agreement. "Gotta be."
oooo
Police Chiefs that have come up through the same police department are always well liked by the rest of the department but Brenda isn't nervous about that. It's all well and good to spend your career in one place if you can swing it, but her experience with the CIA, with the Atlanta PD, with DCPD, and now at the DA's office is all highly beneficial for getting appointed as chief of anything.
Brenda also knows that while some chiefs spend ten to fifteen years at the top of the LAPD pyramid, that is not usually what happens. It's a job with a high turnover rate and whether or not she even makes any short list at all, she knows Chief of Police William Pope has done nothing that can be considered remarkable and his time is coming to a swift and bitter end.
She stares at the paperwork in her bag, the surprise ebbing away into anxiety. It's not that she's not qualified, technically, to be the Chief of Police. She was qualified the first time around and now she's got an even more diverse set of skills but the fact of the matter remains that she'd left the LAPD in disgrace. Some of it of her own making, some of it because she'd been thrown under the bus driven by Will Pope and had been too blind to see it.
Still, people can't be held accountable for where their talents lie. Brenda is a good investigator, a great administrator, a savant of an interrogator. And while she feels fear, it doesn't hold her back. It spurns her forward, makes her shout into the face of criminals, makes her sprint into the line of gun fire, makes her lie and cheat and manipulate all in the name of blind justice.
She keeps meaning to take the application out of her bag but she can't seem to do it. She hasn't written so much as her name on there and she knows she won't until she talks to Sharon. But she's got another talent that she's honed over many years of practiced use and that is procrastination. She parks on the street between their buildings, a block away from home, a block closer to Sharon and Rusty's luxury condo. Sits in the driver's seat and grips the wheel tight.
"Mama," she whispers. "What am I supposed to do?"
Oh, says her mama. Are you still talkin' to me?
"Don't be mad," Brenda hisses. "I'm fifty-years-old and you're dead."
You already know what to do, anyhow, her mama says. It's what me and your daddy told you to do for your entire life and you've never, ever done it.
"I'm only really lookin' for helpful suggestions," Brenda says.
Tell the truth, Brenda Leigh.
"The truth is delicate," Brenda complains. "I'm not against tellin' it on principle but there's better ways to deliver it than just blurting it right out."
How would you know? her mother says.
"Hey!"
Go inside and tell that woman that you're in love with her!
"Mama!" she says. "I'm talking about the job!"
It's all the same thing, honey, Willie Rae says and she sounds a little sad.
Brenda lets go of the wheel and her hands fall into her lap. She's good with body language, she's better with voices. Even hardened criminals, big burly men with tattoos and leather jackets and a face full of scars, even their voices shake when they lie, when they're afraid, when they're about to tell the truth for the first time in forever. She can hear that hard kind of truth in her mama's voice now.
"You're not stayin'," Brenda says. "You're leavin'."
I do think it's time, her mama says. You've already found your way back home.
"Mama," Brenda says, helplessly. It's trite, yes, but it's hard to say goodbye twice. "Mama, I…"
It's already different, though. The feeling she's carried with her since finding her mama dead in her guest bed, since leaving the duplex, her husband and her cat behind. That feeling of being lonely but never quite alone, is gone. Now she does feel alone. Alone in her car, alone in her head.
"Bye, Mama," she says.
oooo
Rusty answers the door and says, "She bought you chocolate ice cream special, it's got this like, ribbon of fudge that goes down the middle and chocolate chips. That's three kinds of chocolate."
"Sounds good," she says.
"She buys us soy vanilla ice cream that's sugar free. Do you see what I'm saying?" Rusty says, lowering his voice. He still hasn't let her in.
"What?" she says.
"It means if you guys having sex keeps me in real sugar, I support you one hundred percent."
"Rusty Beck!"
Sharon's voice from behind them, scolding and horrified. Rusty has the audacity to wink at her before pulling his face into something more contrite and turning around.
"Sorry," he says.
"Come in here this instant," Sharon says to Brenda and Brenda isn't sure why she's in trouble now, too, but Sharon is a mother and has the voice for it and Brenda scoots in, pushes the door shut behind her.
The chocolate ice cream is good, they all have little bowls of it. It's a small carton, and teeny tiny bowls, something Brenda would use for dipping sauce before she'd consider wasting three bites of ice cream on getting it dirty, but then the last time Brenda pulled a carton of ice cream out of her own freezer, there was still a spoon stuck inside of it, so maybe she's no judge.
They sit around and chat for awhile about nothing - about the heat wave settling back down on them like opening an oven door. Hot from below and then rising up from the sand and concrete, the asphalt and glass. Sharon's condo is cool and comfortable and the cost is the constant humming from the air conditioner. Brenda's apartment is stuffy and her air conditioner insufficient and they talk a little bit about the listings for houses that Brenda gets everyday in her personal email. She shows them a picture of a craftsman three miles from her old house, a two bedroom, two bath and Sharon offers to go see it with her but Brenda says no. It's a cute house, a manageable price but doesn't feel like the one for her.
She keeps almost telling them. Her fingers twitch, thinking about reaching for her tote, the words sitting sour and thick just on the tip of her tongue.
But then Rusty makes a big show about how he's going to bed. Talking loudly, wishing them goodnight, calling from the end of the hall, "I'm closing my door now!"
"What in the world?" Brenda asks.
"I asked him if he had any problems with you spending the night sometimes," Sharon says. "He said as long as we keep the funny business out of the common areas."
"He said 'funny business' and 'common areas'?" she asks.
"No," she concedes. "He said as long as we don't get busy on the couch."
"Ah, there it is," Brenda says. "The vernacular of youth."
"You're welcome to," Sharon says. "By the way. Don't feel obligated, but if you wanted to, you could stay."
The moment has passed, she knows. The window for truth telling closed for the evening and she lets herself relax just a little. One more day isn't gonna hurt.
"Okay," she says.
She'll have to get up extra early to go home and shower and change in the morning, she'll have to charge her phone in the car. She'll forego her Thursday morning run all together.
Sharon cleans up the kitchen, though Brenda's not sure what's left to do after the ice cream bowls and sticky spoons get rinsed and loaded into the dishwasher. Still, Sharon wipes down the gleaming countertops, the stove, rinses out the sponge and leaves it balanced on the lip of the sink. She leaves the light underneath the microwave on for the night, a soft glow, like a candle in the window for weary travelers. She checks the locks on the doors and then ushers Brenda and her big purse into the bedroom and closes her door.
"I have a spare toothbrush for you," Sharon says. "You could keep it here, if you'd like."
Brenda nods. "All right, thank you."
"It's pink," Sharon says and Brenda rolls her eyes but she can't complain because her toothbrush at home is pink too, at least the grip on the white handle. When Sharon hands her the package, she realizes that it's exactly the same as her one at home. Same brand, same soft bristles, same everything. That's not an accident, Brenda suspects. Sharon is a snooper. "Go ahead."
Brenda closes herself in the little bathroom and takes a deep breath, watching herself in the mirror as she sits on the toilet, leans over and wipes. She feels a little unsure and untethered, even here with Sharon all around her. Her shampoo, her makeup, her crisp hand towels hanging perfectly square on the rod. Here she is on the edge once again. On the cusp of a new job, newly motherless, and sitting on a secret like an egg about to hatch.
When she comes out of the bathroom, Sharon is half dressed, bare legs and unbuttoning her blouse and she's so strikingly beautiful that tears well up in Brenda eyes and she says, "Sharon?"
"Hmm?" Sharon says, but when she looks at her she looks worried. "What is it?"
"I wanna stay," Brenda says, her voice warbling. She thinks of her own mama, singing hymns in church, her airy voice never very strong. That's just what she sounds like now, butchering a line of hallelujahs all in the name of praise. "But I'm not sure I can… I'm not sure that tonight is…"
"Oh," Sharon says. "Oh honey, no, that's fine." She opens her arms, waves Brenda over and holds her hand against the back of Brenda's head when she slides easily into the hug. "I want you here for more than sex, Brenda Leigh." She sighs. "I just want you."
Brenda doesn't deserve this life, this woman, her warm skin and her open heart.
Sharon provides her with a nightgown, light and pale blue. She feels like a little girl slipping it over her head and the hem falls only to mid-thigh. She slides into the bed while Sharon is in the bathroom, curling up with her cheek against the cool pillow. From the other side of the closed door, she hears a creak and then Rusty's voice, clear and a little higher than normal.
"I'm getting some water!"
Sharon can't hear him and Brenda doesn't reply. Just listens sharp and hard until she hears him make his way back to his bedroom and the door click closed again. Sharon comes out only a few moments later, her face so clean that she shines. She's in a little sleep set, satin shorts and tank edged with lace. She turns off one of the lamps, leaving only the one on the nightstand on.
"You ready?" Sharon asks.
"Did you set an alarm?" Brenda murmurs.
"Five-thirty," Sharon says.
"I'm ready," Brenda says. Sharon pulls the chain on the little lamp and the darkness is absolute only for a moment. Sharon gets into bed and rolls immediately to hold Brenda and Brenda's lets herself be held. Sharon's forearm between her breasts, her knees tucked into Brenda's bent legs. Her lips pressed against Brenda's shoulder once, twice, and then the nuzzle of her little round nose that Brenda just adores.
"Whenever you want to talk about it," Sharon murmurs. "I'm here."
Brenda tenses for a moment and then relaxes. "Okay," she says.
Not the truth, not a lie, and the best she can offer.
oooo
Brenda dreams she's just a little girl in a garden with her Grandma Charlene, pillowed on her lap like it was a big feather bed. The garden flourishes around them, flowers blooming, bees buzzing, vegetables heavy and ripe on the vine. Her grandmother hums something familiar, like a church hymn and smooths down Brenda's hair over and over again.
"Grandma, can we stay forever?" she asks feeling lazy and indulgent in the warm sunshine.
"Oh honey," her grandmother says. "You know nothing lasts forever. Just ask them." She points to the gate to the garden and Brenda can see them all standing on the other side of it. Fritz and Will and her mama and Turrell Baylor, long dead relatives, murderers who'd died in prison, a whole line of people that Brenda has left behind. And there, just behind them all, a flash of russet hair in the sun.
oooo
Sarah drops some mail on Brenda's desk, a square envelope in thick, creamy paper. The city seal on the back, a gold sticker holding the flap closed.
"What is this?"
"You're getting a lot of mail from the Mayor these days, Chief Johnson," Sarah says.
Brenda scoffs, tears the sticker in half to open the envelope and pulls out an invitation. "Oh for heaven's sake! It's for a 4th of July barbecue, that's all."
"That's all?" Sarah asks, reaching out for the invite. Brenda hands it over. "It's at the Getty House!"
"So?"
"So it says Brenda Leigh Johnson and family," Sarah says. "This isn't some formal dinner. He invited you to his house for a family party!"
"He's a very nice man, that's all," Brenda says dismissively.
"Do you want me to call Captain Raydor's office and get it on her calendar?" Sarah asks, setting the invitation back onto Brenda's blotter.
"What?" Brenda asks. "Why would you…?"
"She's just usually your plus one to things," Sarah says.
"No," Brenda says, thinking maybe she ought to give a little more credit to her assistant. She's probably known for longer than Brenda herself. Fielding phone calls and lunch dates and stolen minutes carved out of hectic days. "No," Brenda says again. "I'll ask her myself."
"Yes, ma'am," Sarah says. "Speaking of Captain Raydor, her invitation to the women's LAPD luncheon came yesterday. Should I add that to your calendar?"
Brenda sighs. "You'd better. When is it?"
"Next month," Sarah says. Brenda waves her away.
"Okay, okay, let's talk about it later," she says. "What do I have to do right now?"
"Um, Paul wants you to sit in on that meeting at ten," she says.
"That first," Brenda says. "Then everything else."
She's worthless at the meeting. Squirmy and overtired. The only way she keeps herself still is by thinking about Sharon, who'd slept like a log, her fingers curled against Brenda who had woken up all night long, over and over, every two hours. Sharon in the morning is strangely alluring - not so very strange, because Brenda is drawn to all sorts of things about Sharon, but this one surprises her. It's so… domestic. Her pale robe tightly cinched around her narrow waist, her morning bedhead, her eyes behind her glasses, makeup free. She's got pale lashes like Brenda herself, but makes them dark with mascara. Sharon, while tactile, is not particularly cuddly but all morning she kept reaching out for Brenda - for hugs, to brush her fingers over some piece of skin. Like she was making sure Brenda was really there.
"I'm sure Brenda can get those numbers for you," Paul says. He's the Chief Deputy, a job that, organizationally, is lateral to Brenda's own. If she were a man, that might be true, but she isn't and even if Paul doesn't outrank her, he acts enough like her boss, and everyone else's, that it's a battle she's chosen not to wage. Brenda has never gotten very far with big shows of power, no, she prefers people to underestimate her. They're more easily manipulated that way.
"Sure," Brenda says easily, though she has no idea which numbers he means. At all. It's fine, she'll go through the meeting minutes tomorrow and figure it out. The meeting shifts to personnel, and this Brenda tries to listen to because there's vacancies all over the place and unlike her predecessor who'd delegated most of the hiring away, Brenda likes to sit in on interviews. If she's sending investigators out into the field, she needs to know they're good in person, not just on paper.
After the meeting breaks, Paul holds her back and says, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"
Never good. She puts on her best southern smile and says, "Of course." She smooths her hair, a gesture to disarm him. It's pinned half up today, twisted and tucked at the crown of her head, with most of the heft still hanging free down her back.
"Let's go to my office," he says.
His office is on the same floor as hers, though it's three doors down and sits in the corner of the building. She prefers hers - the view doesn't partially overlook the parking lot but he gets to say corner office, for whatever that's worth. She follows him in, closes the door.
"What's up?"
"Listen," he says. "You've been with us how long now?"
She hates the way he says it - he's been here maybe nine months longer than she has? God, what an absolute ass.
"Four years," she says. "Just about."
"You and I both know you could stay here until you retire and we'd be lucky to keep you," he says.
She nods, offers a tight smile.
"Thank you, that's nice to hear," she says.
"But if you're leaving, it'd be kind of you to at least give us a short list of possible replacements. Since we're doing the hiring anyway, it'd be easy to ask people to come in for your position as well and not make it into a big thing. Make the transition easier," he says.
She shakes her head. "Paul, I'm not sure where you get your information but if I've resigned, that's news to me."
He levels her with a long stare and says, "You don't have to play coy. It's not a secret that the LAPD is your first love."
She shakes her head, surprised. "Who told you I was applyin'?" she demands.
"You've applied before," he says. He's not going to tell her, obviously, where he gets his information. It's possible David had let something slip somewhere along the way but she hopes, she prays that's a hard lesson he's already learned and she certainly doesn't think Andrea is the culprit. Maybe it's not from her side of the fence. Maybe someone in city hall.
"And I didn't get it then," she says. There's no sense in doing this, really, and she puts a hand on her hip, shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her heels sore in her tall shoes. "I haven't decided anything, okay? It's a big choice and I'm thinkin' about it but I haven't done anything yet so don't push me out the door before I'm ready, okay?"
He chuckles. "Okay."
"If I do, I will help you out," she promises.
"For what it's worth," he says. "I think you'd be good."
She rolls her eyes. "Like last time, I'd be the token woman and I'd make it only so far before they hire some man. And anyway, they might keep Will on."
He snorts. "No they won't."
Brenda wonders if Will can hear his own death knell ringing out across the city. If he's got a plan or if he's just going to retire. What's left of their friendship had died when she'd made the short list and he hadn't and he'd spent the whole last year of her time at Major Crimes hanging her out to dry. If she takes Chief of Police out from under him now, he might try and have her killed. If she swipes his job, it's the least of what he deserves. She realizes she doesn't care half as much about getting the job as she does about Will losing it.
"I've got some things to sort out personally before I can make that leap, so sit tight, and I'll let you know," Brenda says.
In her own office, she flops into her desk chair, kicks off her shoes under her desk and chews her bottom lip. She's got to tell Sharon. Her time is up, obviously. If Paul knows, then it's just a matter of time before the political gossip spreads. She looks at the fancy invitation to the 4th of July at the Mayor's historic home and realizes that's part of his campaign for her to apply and if she goes, will be the start of her own campaign for the job.
She picks up her desk phone, dials Sharon's desk.
It rings and rings and rings. She lets it go another two rings and is about to hang up when someone picks up.
"Provenza."
"Lieutenant," Brenda says surprised. "You're answering the Captain's phone?"
"Yeah well, I could see it was you, Chief," he says.
"Where is she?"
"Morgue," he says. "She's got her cell phone, though."
"It's all right," Brenda says. "It's not that important."
He chuckles and she rolls her eyes. She didn't think she'd miss him, but she does, a little. It's Andy that Sharon is tight-lipped about, brushing off Brenda's questions about what had happened and what could be happening still, but it's Lieutenant Provenza that Rusty refers to as her work husband. That seems true enough. They've known each other a long time, circling one another like vultures for years but now have settled into something easier.
"How's it goin' over there?" she asks. "Sharon said something about a bunch of budget meetings?"
"Ah yes," he says. "Pope's been trying to clean house a little. Trying to reallocate funds to better support community needs. His words in the most pompous memo I've seen in some time."
"That means what?" she says, though more because she's thinking out loud. "He's trying to… rob Peter to pay Paul somewhere? Has he been shifting personnel?"
"A truckload of new patrol officers," he says. "Took a few detectives from Robbery-Homicide and gave 'em to SOB."
"Major Crimes is still intact, I see," she says.
"His crowning achievement," Provenza says. She hears the creak of leather, like he's settled himself behind Sharon's desk.
"Maybe trying to start a new division," Brenda murmurs. "That's worked for him in the past."
"He did recall a bunch of the Crown Vics," Provenza says. "Word on the street is that we're getting a bunch of new souped up SUVs and some pansy electric cars."
She sits up. "Electric or hybrids?" she asks.
"What's the difference?" he mutters.
"Okay," she says. "Thank you."
"Anytime, Chief," he says. "You want me to have her call you?"
"Oh, I don't know. How's the investigation goin'?"
"Slow," he says.
"So she'll be home before eight o'clock, you think?" she asks.
"I'll push her out the door myself," he promises.
oooo
Brenda doesn't go home first. If she does, she thinks she won't be able to talk herself into leaving again. Instead she drives from downtown straight to the condo, lucks out that one of the visitor spots is vacant and she slides her car right in. She's got the invitation, she's got the blank application, she's got the disclosure form to submit to LAPD human resources.
She stands out on the sidewalk for a few minutes, afraid she's going to throw up.
Sharon tells the truth. She values the truth. She thinks the truth is a kindness. Brenda wants to be kind but lacks discipline and practice. Sharon deserves this kindness from Brenda, though, even if it's the last thing they do together.
She lets herself into the building, swallowing down the acidic taste in the back of her throat. Knocks at the door but then uses her key. The television is on, Rusty turns to look at her and the waves one arm wildly over his head.
"Come on in," he says. "Third mom."
"Oh please," she says. "You don't want someone like me for a mom."
He turns back to look at her again, studies her for a moment. "Are you okay, Brenda?" She feels shaky, she knows she's got dark circles under her eyes. But, it's the way he says her name. He can be so gentle sometimes. She presses her lips together, wills herself not to start crying on the spot. Nods uneasily.
"Where is she?" she whispers. Rusty looks frightened now, starts shaking his head.
"She's really happy," Rusty says. "I've never seen her this happy."
He sounds desperate now.
"Honey-"
"If you're gonna dump her-"
"No!" she says. "No. I would… I'm not… I just have to tell her something and she's not gonna like it, that's all. I would never dump her. I love her." Besides, can you dump someone you aren't even dating?
But the love is true enough. It doesn't make it any easier, the truth telling, but Brenda does love her and that part wasn't as hard to say out loud as she thought. Easier to say about her, at least.
Rusty nods. "Okay. Sorry, I just… she's the most important person in my life and I don't want her to get hurt, you know?"
"Me too," she says.
"She went to take a shower. I guess the morgue was extra gross today." He scrunches his face up. "I didn't ask."
"Don't go anywhere," Brenda says. "This involves you, too."
"Fabulous," he mutters.
She lets herself into the bedroom. Closes the door behind her. Sharon has closed both her bedroom door and the bathroom one, so Brenda knocks first and then pushes it open to a wall of steam.
"Rusty?"
Sharon's shower has a glass door and it opens a little, her dark head pokes out and she squints. "Brenda."
"Yeah," she says.
"I'm almost done," Sharon says. "I… I didn't know you were coming over."
"I just wanted to talk to you," Brenda says. She sits down on the closed lid of the toilet and Sharon slides the shower door shut again.
When she shuts off the shower, she opens the door again and reaches for her towel She doesn't step out until it's secure around her and she starts. She hadn't realized Brenda was still here. Her glasses are on the counter and she puts them on, looking a little miffed to be honest, but as soon as she can see again, she says, "Are you crying?"
"A little," Brenda says miserably, honestly. She's just leaking. Like she has only so much capacity for feeling things after being numb for so long and she's been using it all up on loving Sharon and now there's nowhere for all this dread and anxiety to go but up and out.
"Well, let me get less naked and we can talk about it," Sharon says. She hesitates - waiting, no doubt for some smart aleck retort from Brenda but she just sniffs, wipes her face and nods.
"Okay."
"Hmm," Sharon says, concerned. She doesn't dress. She dries herself briskly and then puts the towel on her head, twisting it up and then shrugging on her robe, the same one from this morning. Brenda gets herself off the toilet and loiters in the doorway of the bathroom, the steamy heat to her back, the cool evening shadowing the bedroom before her. Sharon sits on the edge of the bed but doesn't pat the mattress. So Brenda crosses her arms hard across her chest and stays standing.
"I got some things to say," Brenda says.
"I know," Sharon says softly. "You haven't been sleeping. You've been jumpy."
"I've been tryin' to do the right thing and tryin' not to hurt anyone along the way," Brenda says. Sharon chuckles, a raspy noise of disbelief.
"That's noble, sweetheart, but not always how it works," she says. "Just say it."
Brenda shakes her head. "You might change your mind about me," Brenda says. "About this."
"About this," Sharon says. "We don't even know what this is."
Brenda points at her. "Right. You don't think that's a problem?"
"Just because we haven't hashed everything out yet doesn't mean it's a problem," Sharon says. "I just thought we were… settling into things."
"Oh," Brenda says.
Sharon offers her a sad smile. "Don't take this the wrong way, okay? But I'm not your ex-husband."
Brenda feels a wave of guilt. Maybe that's fair. Maybe she's tiptoeing around Sharon because she'd had to tiptoe around Fritz for so long, his demands, his fragile feelings, his hair-trigger temper that he never admitted to. Like he was an endless well of patience, like he didn't throw coffee mugs to the floor and slam doors and sleep on the couch like she was some sort of leper.
"I know we're just friends," Brenda says now. "I know we're just tryin' something out but I feel like… I feel more."
"Just friends?" Sharon says.
"Or somethin' like it," Brenda says.
Sharon brings her hands up to her face and gives it a hard rub. Yanks on the towel and all that dark, wet hair tumbles down to her shoulders and Brenda's heart lurches. Even scrubbed clean, even pale and tired and lines on her face, even without the pencil skirts, the heels, the tailored jackets she's still the prettiest thing that Brenda's ever been this close to.
"Let's put the relationship stuff aside for the moment and see if you can get through the job stuff because I'd like to eat dinner at some point tonight," Sharon says. "And drink, probably."
"Okay," Brenda says. "That's fair. We can…"
She stops.
Stands up straight, crosses her arms again, narrows her eyes.
"You know?"
"About Chief of Police?" Sharon says. "Jesus, you think I'm an idiot."
No, Brenda's the idiot. She reaches for her purse, left on top of the dresser and reaches in. Pulls out the application in its tattered envelope, the invitation to the barbecue, the single sheet of paper that Brenda's already affixed her signature to. Starts spreading things out, crouched at Sharon's feet.
"It wasn't my idea," she whispers. "And look-" Here she thrusts the blank application to Sharon who takes it with some surprise. "I haven't filled it out. I wasn't going to do anything without telling you. I told you that, I told you I wasn't going to do anything without talking to you first I just… I couldn't find the words, Sharon, I still can't and I know that this new and I know-" She's crying again. "I know there's absolutely no benefit for you or for Rusty to go through the scrutiny of me applying so how can I ask you for that?"
Sharon reads the note from the Mayor and then lifts that sheet away to look at the application.
"Brenda this is due next week. You haven't turned it in?"
"No," she says. "I haven't even written my name."
"Okay, well first of all, you need to apply online. This was a token, a gesture. A very nice one but we are way past paper applications." She looks at Brenda over the rims of her glasses.
"Oh." She sniffles a little. She's not a pretty crier - her nose turns red and runs. She doesn't like people to see her cry.
"You really should've come to me sooner," Sharon says, shaking her head. "I could've really looked into whether or not there are going to be legal issues regarding your conduct with Stroh but the good news is, I pulled your jacket right before you left for the D.A.'s office, so tomorrow, I can go over it one more time to make sure there's nothing glaring that is going to prohibit your application."
"You pulled my jacket?" Brenda asks. "Why?"
Sharon sighs. "I was going to figure out a way for you to stay. I didn't want you to go." She shrugs.
"So you're saying I should apply then," Brenda says.
"Okay, get off the floor, come up here," Sharon says. Brenda stands, her knees cracking. Sharon moves all the paperwork aside and Brenda sits next to her, wiping under her eyes and facing Sharon. "You don't even like your job."
"It's not that bad," Brenda says.
"It's boring," Sharon says. "I think you would be a very good Chief of Police. Even better than you could've been six years ago. I think you should definitely apply."
"What about…" Brenda takes the relationship disclosure form. "What about this?"
"Well," Sharon says. "If you get the job, then we'll talk about it."
"And until then?" Brenda asks. She reaches out and tugs on a wet lock of hair. Sharon leans in for a kiss but Brenda hesitates. "I'm all snotty."
"I don't care," Sharon says. She kisses the corner of Brenda's mouth, slides her lips over to kiss her properly. Brenda tries to pull away but Sharon presses forward, open her mouth, licking Brenda's lips, her teeth, her tongue. Brenda steadies herself with one hand on Sharon's knee. She can feel the soft fabric of Sharon's robe slip and then just the skin of her thigh.
There's a loud knock at the door.
"Not to interrupt but I'm literally starving to death out here!" Rusty's voice is loud and clear.
Sharon pulls back, sighs. "We'll be right out," she calls back. Mouths a quiet apology.
"It's okay. I told him this involved him too, he's probably worried."
"Worried and starving," Sharon says. "Kid is going to eat me out of house and home."
"Get dressed," she says. "I'll go talk to him."
"And then we'll spend the rest of the night on that application," Sharon says. "I can't take another five years of Will Pope. Or god forbid, Taylor."
"Lord help us all," Brenda says. "We'd have to move."
Sharon chuckles.
"Anyway," Brenda says, standing, gathering up her paperwork and shoving back into her bag. "Thanks. Thank you, Sharon."
Sharon nods. "You're welcome."
Out in the living room, Rusty sees her and says, "Finally."
Brenda tosses him her phone, grateful that he catches it, and says, "Order a pizza."
"On a weeknight?" he says. "Really?"
"Why not?" she asks.
"You are such a good influence on her," he says. "Please never leave."
"That's the plan," Brenda says.