The party starts officially at four but she and Sharon don't arrive until five-thirty. Sharon had gone shopping, had shown up to Brenda's apartment with a white dress patterned with red polka dots and a thin red belt. The skirt flares out enough to hide two pockets and Brenda can fit everything she needs in there without carrying her purse. Her lipstick, her cellphone, her driver's license and a credit card. A little cash. Her car keys.
Sharon was adamant about leaving her big purse behind. Sharon is so fussy about her purse. Brenda notes that Sharon gets to carry a purse. Points it out in the car and receives only an eyeroll for her trouble.
Sharon's in jeans, real tight ones, and a royal blue blouse that suits her so well that Brenda just can't stop staring. It's enough that Sharon makes a frustrated noise and says, "You look like you're about to pounce on me! Quit it!"
"You're so pretty," Brenda says.
"Shut up," Sharon mutters. "I can't believe I'm going to this thing with you."
Sharon has been wildly supportive of the whole Chief of Police thing, helping her with the application, using her legal know-how to research Brenda's actual eligibility only to find it was Pope who hadn't bothered to press charges or file an incident report against her so it's Pope, now, who is going to lose his job to Brenda because he'd thought himself rid of her. And Brenda feels grateful and lucky but also, suddenly, their whole life has become a quest for Brenda to be the chief and it's getting tiresome.
"It could just as easily not be me," Brenda keeps reminder her. Sharon likes to talk about the job like it already belongs to Brenda, like she's measuring for curtains in Will's office already but Brenda isn't one to count her chickens before they're hatched. "They could decide for a hundred reasons not to let me back in."
"Technically you retired. People unretire all the time." Sharon says. She's the one driving - she's the one in flat white sandals. She'd taken one look at Brenda's shiny red pumps and taken the keys right out of her hand.
"No, they just come back as consultants on contract," Brenda says. "If I go back into active service, it's going to be a financial nightmare. Benefits, social security. I don't even know all what."
"Well with your new salary increase, which I imagine to be substantial, you can hire someone to navigate your finances for you and possibly invest some of it wisely and I don't know, Brenda, maybe at some point you could move out of your dorm room and into a real house."
"Don't be cross with me!" Brenda says. "When am I supposed to go house hunting? Between making nice with every official in the city, doin' my actual job and seein' you that's at least 26 hours a day."
"Thank you for making me third on that list of chores," Sharon says sarcastically.
"Oh, for heaven's sake! You aren't a chore, you're the one thing I like about my life right now! You and Rusty," she says.
"Why is it that every time you apply for this job you immediately decide you don't really want it and proceed to make my life a living nightmare?" she says. "If you aren't happy with the D.A. and you don't want to be Chief of Police then find a third thing!"
"I do want to be Chief of Police!" Brenda says.
"Then act like it!" Sharon shouts, though her shouts always come out like a growl, rough and low. "Make nice with the mayor! Buddy up to the union. Make promises. Shake the hands of politicians. Play the game!"
Brenda scowls, slumps down into her seat, pushing her heel into the carpet mat at her feet. "I'd be good at it without the song and dance."
Sharon doesn't even dignify this with a response.
"I don't know why I'm in trouble, all I did was tell you you're pretty," she says.
"You want me to feel complimented?" Sharon says. "Tell me I'm smart. Tell me I'm funny. Say that you love me. I don't need you to tell me I'm pretty all the time. Pretty fades."
"First of all, clearly it doesn't because if anything I think you're more beautiful now than when I met you," Brenda says. "Secondly, I don't really think you're all that funny. And finally, you think you're going to trick me into telling you that I love you like that? Please. I'm offended."
Sharon snorts. Brenda stares out her window.
"I'm funny," Sharon says.
"You're clever," Brenda says.
"You really don't think I'm funny?" Sharon's glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. Her long lashes dark with mascara, curled up so they don't brush against the lense of her glasses.
"Oh my God, please tell me we're almost there. Where is this place? I thought it was close and yet somehow I feel like I've been in this car for a hundred years already," she says.
Brenda loves Sharon and she suspects that Sharon knows that and that Sharon loves Brenda right back but there haven't been any declarations of the sort and lately Sharon's been goading Brenda into saying it first, leaving her openings or just telling her to do it but Brenda doesn't want to break first, doesn't want to say it just because Sharon has decided she's ready to hear it. So now it's a whole thing. One more thing to sit heavy between them, one more knot that Brenda doesn't know how to untangle without just slicing through, regardless of damage.
"This place is only one of the most recognizable residences in the city," Sharon says. "And we're not driving there, we're driving to a parking lot where they're going to shuttle us over - did you not even look at the invitation?"
Brenda cracks the window but it's hotter outside than in. She's just nervous and sweaty. "I just forgot," she says. She feels strange without her purse, like she's forgotten something important. She's going to spend the whole evening convinced that she's left something behind and patting at her pockets.
"We don't have to stay that long," Sharon says in a more soothing tone of voice. She must know that Brenda feels a wreck and Brenda knows she's being moody and childish because of nerves. Brenda resolves to be nicer to her for the rest of the day. Beautiful Sharon who is willing to put up with her crazy, to be her plus one at an event meant for families just so Brenda can secure a job that is going to take up all her time.
"Yes we do," Brenda says miserably. "It'd be rude to leave before the fireworks."
"No, it won't." Sharon says. "You will make nice for a few hours and then you will say you have another engagement and we will leave. Besides, you can see the stadium fireworks well enough from the condo."
"I don't care about fireworks," Brenda says. "But if you want to watch them, we can."
Sharon flicks the turn signal, slows in the line of cars that are trying to park.
"The invitation is in my purse," Sharon says evenly. "Will you get it, please?"
Brenda reaches back to the seat, leaning just far enough to snag the handles of Sharon's leather bag. Digs through it for the invitation, pulls it out. The bag smells like expensive leather, like Sharon herself - the way she smells when Brenda steals a kiss just after she's reapplied lipstick, or when she's just dabbed a bit of scent between her breasts right before she gets dressed.
"Thank you," Brenda blurts. "Thank you for this. For today."
A corner of Sharon's mouth curls up, a little smirk. "Of course."
She sets the bag at her feet and holds the invitation on her lap. It's going to take a while to get into the parking lot and so when Brenda's phone rings, she fishes it out of her pocket and squints down at the screen.
"It's Bernadette," Brenda says. Bernadette is her real estate agent - the woman who forwards countless listings to Brenda's email all week long and Brenda hasn't liked any of them. Too far from the office, too big, too small, not right. Brenda doesn't know why she's being so picky except for that her life feels so chaotic right now that she just can't imagine adding one more spinning plate to the mess.
"Answer it," Sharon says.
Brenda slides her finger along the bottom of the screen and says, "Chief Johnson."
Sharon snorts.
"Oh!" says Bernadette - she's got a lilting Irish accent, a transplant like Brenda who will never pass as a local. "I'm glad to have caught you!"
"What can I do for you?" Brenda says. "On this holiday?"
"Yes, I'm sorry to disturb your time off, but this house came across my desk and I just had to… I think it's perfect. I think it's just right. I wanted to alert you right away."
"Okay," Brenda says. She pulls the phone away and touches the button to turn on the speaker so Sharon can hear too. "Tell me about it," she says.
"It's a three bedroom, two bath vintage tudor, just under 1800 square feet," she says. "It was built in 1924, it has a patio and a garden. It has hardwood floors throughout. It-"
"Where is it?" Brenda asks. The last couple days have been listings in Pasadena and it had taken some time to convince Bernadette to stop sending her those. It's too far. She'd spend her whole life on the 110.
"It's in Eagle Rock," Bernadette says. Brenda looks at Sharon who tips her head to the side and nods a little.
"It's not that much closer!" Brenda says.
"Well-" Bernadette starts because she thinks Brenda is talking to her.
"How much," Brenda says when Sharon's mouth gets hard with frustration.
"Nine eighty nine," Bernadette says. "But it just passed thirty days on the market so I think that's negotiable."
The number is still like a slap to the face but Sharon glances over at her and says softly, "If you get the job, Brenda, that's easily managed."
If Bernadette hears Sharon, she says nothing about it.
"Well," Brenda says. "I guess I'd like to see it. Can we see it?"
"They're showing tomorrow," Bernadette says, sounding relieved. Brenda's only ever wanted to look at one other property and it had sold before she'd even managed to do that. "I'll send you the details and can meet you there."
"All right," Brenda says. "Thank you. And have a happy holiday. We'll see you tomorrow."
"Bye bye," Bernadette says and hangs up.
"You'll come with me, right?" Brenda says.
Sharon takes the invitation from her hand and rolls down the window as she approaches the parking lot attendant.
"Of course," she says. "I will if you want me to."
oooo
The Mayor greets her holding his young daughter who keeps her face buried in her father's neck. Most of the party is happening outside on the grounds, despite the heat. There's a carnival feeling - a big bounce house, a cart making cotton candy that Brenda has talked herself out of visiting already, a small petting zoo. There are kids everywhere, the children of important Los Angeles residents. Brenda feels kind of adrift being here. She'd asked Rusty to come too, but he'd declined as politely as he knew how to, by laughing in her face and saying no. It was hard to truly be offended when she was so busy being jealous of his freedom.
They'd found their spot at one of the round tables, draped in red cloth, surrounded by white chairs, topped with a navy blue umbrella to offer at least some shade. There are a few misting stations set up where cool water is sprayed but it mostly evaporates before it hits Brenda and anyway, standing under one of those would be a nightmare for her hair.
Sharon has gone to find the restroom, so Brenda is alone when she spots Eric making his rounds. Brenda plasters on a smile and shakes his free hand.
"Happy independence day!" he says. "I'm glad you made it."
"Happy fourth," Brenda says. "Thank you. Your home is lovely."
"I'm just borrowing it," he says. "This is my daughter, Maya. Maya, can you say hello to Chief Johnson?"
Maya peeks out shyly but doesn't say anything.
"You can call me Brenda," she says, though the child seems unimpressed and Brenda has no real experience with kids this young and therefore has nothing to fall back on.
"This is overwhelming for her," Eric says. "She'll go down for a nap soon."
"Ah," Brenda says.
"I can't remember - do you have children?" he asks.
"Oh," she says. "No. Uh-uh. I have a niece that I'm close to, but she's grown now." She almost mentions Rusty except that Rusty's grown now, too, and not hers. Not in a way that she can claim to an acquaintance. "I've always been pretty invested in my work."
"A little bird told me you submitted your application," Eric says. "I was glad to hear it."
"It's hard to say no the the mayor," she says with a grin. "He can be very persuasive."
"I do try," he says. "Are you here alone?"
There are other people seated at their table, but they all have kids so Brenda's been standing on her own, getting the lay of the land. She can see some familiar faces in the crowd but hasn't yet ventured out. She's been waiting for Sharon to come back so they can make a plan. Plus Sharon is better at small talk and leading Brenda away from conversational landmines.
"No," she says. "I'm here with…" She pauses here, unsure of how to continue. "A friend."
"Good," he says. "Well you just have fun."
"Yeah," she says. "Don't let me keep you away from important business."
"It's a holiday," he says. "No business. Just fun!"
Brenda isn't sure that she buys that. She can't be the only candidate for Chief here today. Maybe the only one without a spouse or a family but doesn't that make her an asset? He's just about to move on when he pauses and says, "Your friend?"
She turns and looks over her shoulder to see Sharon walking toward them. They're alone enough that it's obvious that Brenda is Sharon's destination. Brenda smiles and says, "You know Captain Raydor, don't you, sir?" when Sharon makes it over to them.
"Of course," he says. After all, the mayor always attends Sharon's banquet every August. "How are you, Captain?"
"Well, thank you," she says, shaking his hand with a genuine smile. "And who is this little angel?"
"This is Maya," he says. Maya offers Sharon a small smile and sticks her hand into her mouth. "That's high praise, Captain," Eric says. "A smile!"
"She looks like she's ready for a nap," Sharon says.
"That was just where we were headed," he says. "Excuse me ladies. Please, enjoy the festivities."
"You're so charming," Brenda says, as he walks away.
"Nonsense," Sharon says. "Just used to these sorts of events."
Brenda sits in her seat and Sharon lowers herself gracefully into the next chair.
"I hope they serve food soon," Sharon says. "I saw the caterers prepping, so it shouldn't be too long. There's a beverage station already set up. I can get you some water or some lemonade."
The table is set with empty glasses and cloth napkins but it's still empty.
"I'm okay," she says.
"Your cheeks are pink, Brenda Leigh," Sharon says. "Come on. Let's go get some water, you can talk to some people, and we can eat and go home."
"Okay," Brenda says, but as soon as Sharon starts to stand again she says, "Wait!" Puts her hand on Sharon's thigh so she stays seated.
"What?" Sharon says. Her hair is clipped back, her eyes so green. Even sweaty and hot and unsure, Brenda wants to lean in and kiss her. Even in front of all these people. It probably doesn't matter because she's the diversity candidate, that she's the woman in a pool of men that is going to be mostly white and with a few African-American candidates for a city that is overwhelmingly Hispanic. "What is it?" she says when Brenda hasn't done anything but stare.
"I do love you," Brenda says. "I'm sorry I haven't said it before." She feels better for having said it, but worse, too. Sharon's deserved to hear it long before this.
Sharon grins, shakes her head a little. "I am lovable, that's true."
"You really are," Brenda says. "But, don't say it back to me now."
Sharon's smile fades a little. "But Brenda-"
"No," Brenda says. "Don't. Save it for when I really, really need it, okay? Save it up for me." Because at least that way, even if it never comes, Brenda will be able to think it's always just on the horizon. Something to hold on to.
Sharon nods. "If you say so."
A caterer, a young man in a white shirt and black bow tie comes around with a metal pitcher sweating condensation and pours icy water into their empty goblets and Sharon thanks him, makes Brenda take a few sips. It tastes cold and lemony.
Sharon knows more people than Brenda as they make polite rounds, it seems like, but over by the face painting station, Brenda sees Will Pope and groans.
"Try not to make it worse," Sharon says when he spots them, pulls a face and comes over.
"Brenda," he says.
"Will," she says in return. "How nice to see you!"
"How surprising to see you," he says. "And you, Captain Raydor."
"I got invited, just like you," Brenda says. "Did you bring the kids?"
"Yeah, they're playing with some friends." He looks over his shoulder, but there's no escape route there.
"Well," Brenda says. "This heat is somethin' else."
"Chief Pope," Sharon says. "Detective Sykes is thrilled with the new hybrid that's been issued to her. I think the change is going to be incredibly successful."
"Anything to make Los Angeles a greener city," Will says, glancing at Brenda with a small, smug smile. It's a smugness he doesn't deserve for an idea he didn't have. How long has he been allowing other people to feed him administrative plans only to take credit for himself? Brenda can't stand it, she won't.
"Let me guess," Brenda says. "Built in video, bulletproof doors and windows? Did you find a retailer to cut you a great deal if you bought in bulk?" Will's smile falters. "Gotta spend money to make money, right Will? Make an investment in the city? Police hybrids go hand in hand with the mayor's Great Streets initiative. More bike lanes, planting trees, safer streets for the citizens, supporting local businesses. Where on earth did you come up with an idea like that, I wonder?"
"Honey," Sharon says. "Look, they're serving dinner. Let's let Chief Pope find his family and go eat."
Will's shocked expression stutters over to Sharon now. "Honey?" he manages.
Brenda leans in, narrowing her eyes. "We're real good friends, Will, don't you know that? Real good."
"Excuse us, Chief," Sharon says, wrapping her warm fingers around Brenda's arm, just above her elbow. Brenda allows herself to be pulled away. "No need to rub his nose in it, Brenda."
"You're the one turning this into our coming out party," Brenda says.
"Well, you're in love with me," she says with a wicked smile. "Maybe I want to shout it from the rooftops."
"You're terrible and you're goin' straight to hell," Brenda says.
"Probably," Sharon says. "But not for this."
After dinner, Brenda and Sharon walk through the historic house, looking to say their appropriate goodbyes. They find the Mayor in one of the living rooms, talking to a small group. Brenda hesitates in the doorway but he waves her in, introduces her around. "And Captain Raydor of the Los Angeles Police Department."
"How do you do?" Sharon says.
"We just wanted to thank you again, sir, for your hospitality," Brenda says. "We can't stay."
"You can't leave so soon!" he says.
"My son is at home," Sharon says. "He likes to watch the fireworks together."
"A noble reason," Eric says. "Well, nice to have you to our home, Captain Raydor. Brenda Leigh Johnson. See you again soon."
"Yes, sir," she says. "See you soon."
oooo
It's just starting to get dark when they open the door to Sharon's condo and Brenda doesn't expect to see Rusty at all. She never used to be home on holidays when she was his age. Brenda is thinking about Sharon's shower, about washing away the sweat and sunscreen and anxiety of this day. When they spend the night in Sharon's bed, they only ever sleep. Sharon is shy about doing anything more with Rusty down the hall. When they spend time in Brenda's bed, there's not much sleeping and she's not shy at all.
So it's somewhat surprising when Sharon drops her keys in the bowl by the door and rounds the corner only to shriek and says, "Oh my God!"
Brenda bumps into her with an "Oof!" and manages only to see Rusty with his back to them, shoulders hunched as he buttons his pants and another young man, identity unknown, clambering to his feet and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What?" Brenda says.
"I didn't think you were coming home!" Rusty says, his voice high and panicked.
"Okay," Sharon says. "Okay. We'll just… come on, we'll just go. We're going. We'll go to Brenda's."
"Shit," Rusty says. "Shit. Shit."
"I'm Brenda," Brenda says to the nervous looking young man standing awkwardly in the kitchen. She walks around Sharon who seems to be frozen in place, watching Rusty fumble around and extends her hand and he takes it.
"T.J.," he says.
"Nice to meet you," Brenda says.
"Come on," Sharon says. "We're leaving right now." Then she grabs her keys and heads right out the door again.
"Be safe!" Brenda calls, shutting the door behind her. Then she starts to laugh.
"It's not funny!" Sharon says.
"Oh come on," Brenda giggles. "It's funny! You've been so worried about Rusty catching us in the act and we just walked in on him getting a blow job in the kitchen! That's funny."
Sharon covers her face with her hands and groans, so Brenda calls for the elevator which is still on their floor and maneuvers Sharon into it.
"Oh my God," Sharon says again. "I saw it."
"It's all right," Brenda says, though it's some effort not to keep laughing.
"No, it's not, I saw his penis, I saw it and I can't unsee it!" Sharon says from between her fingers.
Brenda bursts out laughing again.
"He's twenty years old, Sharon, he's grown," Brenda says, trying to temper her mirth when Sharon levels a cold glare at her. "And considering his history with sex, don't you think it's good that he's even interested in sexual relationships?"
"I'd prefer he not be interested in them in my kitchen," Sharon says. Brenda touches her back, guides her out of the elevator and out of the lobby. They'll walk to Brenda's apartment, even though they're tired and sore.
"Someone offers to give you a BJ in the kitchen..." Brenda shrugs. "What guy would turn that down?"
"Can we not talk about it?" Sharon says. Still, Brenda pulls out her phone and sends Rusty a text that says, I'll talk to her, don't worry.
"What are you doing?" Sharon demands.
"Telling Rusty that it's gonna be okay!" Brenda says. "I'm sure you scared the snot out of him."
"What on earth am I going to say to him?" Sharon asks, looping her arm through Brenda's and pulling her tightly against her.
"Nothing," Brenda says. "If he apologizes, accept it. If he pretends nothing happened, be grateful you dodged the bullet."
"That's it?" Sharon says. "Your plan is to do absolutely nothing and not deal with it at all?"
"Oh no," Brenda says. "Now we get to have sex at your house all we want."
Sharon snorts.
"Loud, rowdy sex," Brenda presses. "What's he gonna say about it now?"
Sharon opens her mouth to say something but has nothing to argue that with so just closes it and says, "Hmm."
Brenda lets them into her apartment, pulling everything out of her pocket at once and dumping it onto her coffee table. And because Sharon is so used to coming over to the apartment for sex, when Brenda turns around to face her, ready to offer her something to drink or something more comfortable to wear, she's not surprised to see Sharon watching her with an increasingly familiar expression. Heavy lidded eyes, open mouth.
Brenda smiles at her.
"Somethin' on your mind, Captain?" she drawls, laying on the accent good and thick.
"It just seems like," Sharon says. "To me, that if they're having sex, we should at least get to have sex too."
"We could come to some sort of arrangement," Brenda says. "But not until I shower."
"How about a bath?" Sharon says.
"Together?"
She cocks her head. "Think we'll fit?"
"Oh," Sharon says. "I think we can certainly try."
This is Brenda's favorite mood of Sharon's - a little tired, her guard let down. Sassy and sexy and flirty. It was the Sharon she'd fallen for when she'd been flirting hard without realizing it, tucking Brenda's hair behind her ear and watching her from afar. Stealing kisses in stairwells and in empty rooms.
Sharon runs the bath which is just fine with Brenda. She knows it's a luxury for Sharon. Her only tub is in Rusty's bathroom and it's not a place she wants to soak. So she leaves her in there to tend to the water and pours them both a small glass of wine. Were she alone, she'd drink it out a plastic cup but she decides to risk real wine glasses over Sharon's scorn.
When Brenda comes into the bathroom with the wine, Sharon's got the old porcelain tub filled with water and fragrant bubbles. It smells like a mixture of her body wash, sweet and decadent, and something else, something more delicate and floral. Sharon twists her hair up and secures it with Brenda's plastic butterfly clip and takes off her glasses. Starts on the buttons of her blouse, revealing pale skin, the curve of her breasts, the dark blue of her bra. She slips the blouse off and drops it in the laundry basket Brenda keeps in the corner of the bathroom. She undoes the button of those tight jeans and then pauses.
"There's no graceful way to take off pants this tight," she says regretfully.
"Sit on the counter," Brenda says, setting the wine glasses down on the ledge of the tub. "Push 'em down a little, I'll help."
"I'm too old to be sitting on counters," Sharon says, but she does push the jeans down to revealing matching panties. Brenda loves a nice set of lingerie; Sharon knows it. Has been wearing more of it for her.
"My old lady," Brenda says, patting the tile. Sharon rolls her eyes, pushes up with a grunt and allows Brenda to pull the tight jeans off her legs. Brenda can see the shadow of the seams indented into her skin, runs her finger down the red line. Sharon shivers.
"Turn around, I'll get your zipper," she says. Brenda complies, turning around so Sharon can tug her zipper down, can lean in to kiss the vee of skin she reveals. "Go turn off the water."
It's a bit of logistics, figuring out how to sit. She's used to sitting back against a hard chest, being the little spoon but they end up stepping into the hot water facing one another and sinking down. Brenda is small enough that she can sit crossed legged and Sharon draws her knees up to her chest, rests her chin against them and smiles.
"We fit," she says.
"Look at that," Brenda grins. She leans in and steals a kiss.
They talk for a long time, whispering about nothing, giggling softly to one another, rubbing noses and toes. It feels like being young and newly in love, it feels like having a very best friend.
oooo
They barely make it out of the bathroom alive. There's water on the floor, they slip and slide on the tile, on the hardwood, dripping and distracted as they stumble toward the bed. It had started out as just a bath, talking to each other in low comfortable murmurs and touching each other gently and reverently and then Sharon had kissed her and kissed her again and kissed hard and things had quickly gotten out of hand.
The sheets are damp beneath them as they roll around in Brenda's bed. She's on top for a moment but Sharon's legs are longer and stronger and it's easy enough for her to use Brenda's weight against her to take control, distracting her with her tongue and her fingers. Brenda reaches up, feels around for the plastic clip and pulls it from Sharon's hair, throwing it hard toward the end of the bed. She hears it hit the wall and clatter to the floor. Sharon's hair falls and it smells like a long day in the sunshine, like something dark and earthy. Brenda breathes it in, tilts her head away so Sharon can nip at her neck as she hitches one of Brenda's legs up onto her hip.
She hisses as she feels one finger against her and then inside of her.
Sharon knows her well, now, after a few months of tumbling around in bed and Sharon isn't here to tease. She slips another finger in, curves both so they press hard into the spot that makes Brenda cry out and push her hips against Sharon's hand. Sharon kisses her neck, her jaw, her mouth and then reaches down with her other hand to rub at Brenda's clit.
"Please," Brenda manages, "Please."
The pleasure is relentless, it crashes over her in wave after wave and there's no pause, no ebb, only flow and she feels like she's panting too hard, like she can't catch her breath. The air is cool on her damp skin, her nipples feel painfully tight. Sharon's panting too, groaning into Brenda's skin, whimpering in sympathy when Brenda cries out. It takes Brenda a moment to realize that Sharon is thrusting against her, hot and wet on her thigh and there's something about that, Sharon stealing her own pleasure while working Brenda hard that tips Brenda over the edge.
She claws at Sharon, grabbing hold of skin and hair and gripping at whatever she can, but she doesn't chase it, doesn't languish in it. As soon as she can get her wits about her, she rolls so Sharon's back is flat on the bed, slides down her, pushes her knees apart and buries her tongue in her wet heat.
"Jesus!" Sharon says. Brenda smiles into her, proud to have gotten the jump on her even with a fuzzy brain and trembling muscles, still clenching at nothing with little aftershocks. Then she dips her tongue inside before moving up, tonguing her clit and then sucking it between her teeth and biting down lightly. Sharon's hands in her hair, her hips bucking up against her face. But Brenda doesn't let her shake her off. She pushes in one finger, two fingers, twists and scissors them.
When Sharon comes, she clenches hard, sucks in a breath and freezes like the whole world stops for just a moment. Like she's suspended somewhere temporary but extravagantly grand. And then she falls, slumping back down with a groan. It's enough to take the edge off anyway and there's a whole long night still yet to spiral out around them.
Brenda kisses up her belly, the underside of her breast, the bright red skin at the base of her neck. Tucks her head in there, Sharon's arms and legs around her. She can feel Sharon's heart thudding just under her skin.
"I love you," Sharon says.
"Hey," Brenda manages, though she doesn't have the energy to produce real ire. "You were supposed to wait."
"I can't," Sharon says. "I can't wait anymore."
Brenda kisses her clavicle, jutting and freckled and says, "I know how that feels."
oooo
Brenda buys the house. All three bedrooms, all two baths. The fireplace that has been bricked up and is only decorative, the patio, the pool in the backyard. The roses in the front, the marble counters in the kitchen. Sharon comes with her and Rusty too and they're both quiet as they walk through the empty house, trying not to sway Brenda one way or another, but when she nods and says, "Okay," both Sharon and Rusty look proud and pleased.
It takes time to move in, once it almost falls out of escrow, but then it doesn't and the house is hers.
She hires movers to move her teeny tiny apartment into her big empty house and when she explains the situation over the phone, the guy on the other end of the phone laughs and says he'll send a couple guys over and they'll get it done in a few hours. It doesn't even take the whole day.
Brenda spends the first night after her move at the condo and then the night after that and only when Saturday rolls around again does Sharon drag her over to the house to at least set up the bedroom. "If you don't actually spend any time here, it's just a million dollar storage unit," she says. She has enough furniture for the bedroom and the smaller sitting room, but what's supposed to be the main living room is empty. She has some things for the kitchen, but nowhere near enough to fill up the white cupboards. Having four of everything made sense in her little apartment; here it just seems ridiculous.
"You know," Sharon says when Brenda starts to fret about when she's gonna find the time to buy furniture. "Lieutenant Provenza's house actually looks pretty good."
"That was quite the non-sequitur," Brenda say. "You may have to do some explainin'."
"Oh, his female companion-"
"Girlfriend." Brenda rolls her eyes at Sharon's delicate phrasing. She's trying to be respectful but female companion just makes the poor woman sound like an escort.
"Whatever, she has a friend who stages houses," Sharon says, ignoring the correction. "They come fill the house and then whatever you like you pay for and if you don't like it, they can put something else in and you can try it out for a while."
"How much does that cost?" Brenda wonders.
"Well," Sharon says. "I don't know but it's my understanding that most of the furniture has been used in other stagings so it's not absolutely brand new and in that way you save a little money, though I think probably at best you break even. But you don't have to coordinate delivery, you don't have to build anything. You don't have to shop."
"Sold," Brenda says. "Sold, sold."
"I'll have Provenza ask her for the number," Sharon says. "Maybe we could have them over to the condo for dinner or something."
They're sitting on Brenda's mattress in her new bedroom, their voices bouncing off the bare walls. "Really?" she says.
"Sure," Sharon says. "Why not?"
"I never much socialized with the team," Brenda says. "I wasn't real good at all that."
"You don't say." Sharon's voice is dryly amused.
"What have you told them?" Brenda asks. "About me, I mean."
"Nothing," Sharon says. "But then, no one has asked."
"Not even Flynn?" Brenda says.
"Please don't tell me you're still jealous of Andy Flynn," Sharon says.
"He likes you!"
"Lots of people like me, I'm very likable but that doesn't mean I return their feelings or that I want to date them."
"So you don't like him, then?" Brenda asks.
"I like you," Sharon says. "That's all you need to worry about."
But it's hard to find a night for their dinner party because Sharon picks up a case and Brenda's working extra hours, trying to figure out who might replace her, should she have to resign. Plus, the mayor has been inviting her to more events, effectively trotting her out at high publicity functions. She thinks it's so people can get used to seeing her, her name, her face. She makes the society pages and then, a week after that, there's a small little article speculating as to whether or not she's the mayor's choice for the new Police Chief and if she is, she'd be the first openly gay female police chief in the country. It doesn't mention Sharon by name.
Charlie calls the morning it comes out and says, "What the heck?"
"How are you reading the Times?" Brenda demands.
"I put a google alert on your name," Charlie says. "Are you going to be the Chief of Police? And since when are you openly gay?"
"Since now, I suppose, though I'm not really that gay… I dunno what I'm supposed to call it," Brenda says. "What did grandpa say?"
"I didn't tell him," Charlie says. "But someone somewhere is going to see it, so you'd better call him yourself."
"Ugh," Brenda says. That's a chore she's going to put off forever. That's one she's going to avoid until it blows up in her face because she'd rather clean up the wreckage than face that particular fear head on. "Okay. Okay. Come visit me soon."
"Okay," Charlie says, laughing. "Bye."
Her father may not see the article, but everyone in Los Angeles certainly does. Brenda takes her lunch hour to go down to the Police Administration Building and rides up to Major Crimes fretting and fussing. When she gets there, she can see straight through the door and the glass walls of Sharon's office.
Sharon and Fritz, standing face to face.
"Oh boy," Brenda says under her breath, buzzing for entry. She presses her finger down hard on the bell until someone lets her in, and she waves her thanks at the uniformed office before barreling across the murder room to the office and throwing open the door.
Both of them turn to look at her with the same hard expression.
"Not a good time, Chief Johnson," Sharon says.
Brenda is all for professionalism but Sharon almost never calls her by her title unless in front of a crowd or in bed and Fritz is hardly a crowd.
"You guys have a case?" she asks.
"Police business doesn't concern you, Brenda," Fritz says and not kindly but it doesn't sting because she can see Sharon suppress the urge to laugh.
"This ain't about the Times?" Brenda asks, looking between them.
"Why, was there an article in the Times about how SOB is taking ten percent of Major Crimes' budget?" Sharon asks.
"Ten percent?" Brenda asks. "Interesting." What in God's green earth is Will tryin' to do? Force Provenza into retirement? Shake up divisions? Piss of Sharon for sport?
Sharon turns to look at her. "Why? What was in the Times?"
"Nothin'!" Brenda says. "Nothin', y'all carry on. Bye, now! Bye bye," she says and gets herself right out of that office. She goes to hide in electronics only to find that's where the rest of Sharon's division has holed up. They stare at her for a moment, all of them. Mike and Julio, Andy looking quite grim indeed, even Buzz and Detective Sykes. But it's Provenza who steps forward holding up the newspaper with glee on his face.
"Something you'd like to share with the class, Chief?"
She clears her throat. "I did apply for Chief," she says. "But it's not a sure thing by any stretch."
"And?" he says.
"And the rest ain't none of your business!" she says. She can't look at Andy so she looks at Mike instead who grins at her.
"She has been in a good mood for a while," he says. "I think it's very nice."
"Well," she says, at a loss. "How long has Chief Howard been in there?"
"About ten long minutes," Provenza says.
"Shoot," she groans. "I knew this was gonna get messy."
There's an awkward pause and then Julio says, "I heard your new house has a pool, ma'am."
"Oh," she says. "Yes, it does. We'll have you guys over once it's, um, furnished."
"We?" Andy says.
"You know, Chief, Patrice has a designer friend," Provenza says. "I could have her call you with his information."
"Wait, we?" Andy says again. "Is Sharon living with you now?"
"Thank you, Lieutenant Provenza," Brenda says, "I would like that. And Lieutenant Flynn for heaven's sake! No, she's not, but if she were, what business would it be of yours? And anyway, that stupid article didn't say anything about Sharon! It could be talking about anyone."
He shuts up but he looks grim. It's hard not to feel a slight pang of sympathy - she's in love with Sharon, too, after all.
The door to electronics opens and Fritz sticks his head in looking, if possible, even more angry than when she'd left Sharon's office. He looks up at the crowd only momentarily and says, "Brenda? You want to come out here for a second? Please?"
She glances back at the group but there's no help there. Buzz and Mike and Amy all appear to be looking very intently at the dark monitors, Andy is still brooding at his own feet and Provenza is gazing up at the ceiling tiles. She follows Fritz out and back toward Sharon's office.
But he stops her just before opening the door and says, "I wish you would've told me a long time ago that this was something that you needed. Could've saved us a lot of time and money."
"I…" Brenda says. "I didn't know."
He holds open the door for her.
Sharon looks like Sharon, cool and unflappable and Brenda is jealous of her ability to be so calm and collected because she feels like she's getting called into the principal's office.
"Okay," Sharon says, standing up. "Let's talk about the Times thing later."
"Um," Brenda says.
"Captain Raydor and I understand that, professionally, it would be best for our respective departments for Will Pope to step down and for you to take his place," Fritz says. "If you promise not to shake up my division or unfairly favor Major Crimes, you have my public support."
Brenda should be surprised, but she isn't. Fritz is a good man who cares about his job and while he has every reason to hate her and Sharon, too, he doesn't. At least not openly.
Brenda nods. "I can work with that," she says. Anyway, she has no plans for reorganization or shake ups, at least not for the first year. Every new Chief always comes in and tries to make a name for themselves by changing a bunch of stuff and it's always a nightmare that backfires, so Brenda has real definite plans of skipping that particular step. Even if it means living with Russell Taylor for a while longer yet.
oooo
There's a longer article the next day, an op-ed piece about how Los Angeles sorely needs a female chief of police, how the country needs one in the wake of Ferguson and all of the brutal police killings, how Brenda would not just be a Diversity Hire because her credentials are spelled out too, making it clear that she's well qualified. This article doesn't name Sharon, but somebody must be feeding someone at the Times information because it says that Brenda's partner is an LAPD officer.
They read the article together in Sharon's bed before work and then, when Brenda gets to her office, there's an email saying that the District Attorney wants to see her. She's about to head over, when her desk phone rings and she gets it. It's Sharon.
"Pope just retired," Sharon says without preamble.
"Guess he thought he could save face," Brenda says.
"They named Taylor as the interim," Sharon says. "Two more weeks of Pope and then… when are they supposed to announce you?"
"They're supposed to announce the first week of November but it ain't me yet," Brenda says. "I haven't even seen a short list! And now I'm probably about to get fired because of these newspaper articles!"
"Well, you'll get a month off to sort out your house before your new job starts," Sharon says. "That's not a bad plan, actually."
"Hanging up now, goodbye," Brenda says. She sets the phone back into its cradle.
She swings by the break room before heading over to the D.A.'s office. She'd stopped for coffee before coming in but it's never quite sweet enough, so she digs through the cupboard the find the honey bear. The honey is old, starting to crystallize in the bottle and she's squeezing hard, trying to get the viscous liquid moving again.
"Brenda?"
It startles Brenda and the honey bear goes flying out of her hands, skittering across the counter and clattering loudly into the stainless steel sink.
The District Attorney is a friendly woman named Jackie who is about ten years older than Brenda. They get on well enough; two women high up the food chain tend to immediately find common ground.
"Sorry," Brenda says, embarrassed and flustered. "I was just on my way to see you." She fishes the bear out of the sink and sets it on the counter. She'll drink her coffee bitter.
"That's all right," Jackie says. "I just wanted to offer my congratulations. I'm thrilled, just thrilled at the prospect of a female chief of police for Los Angeles. It's long, long overdue."
"It's not a done deal yet," Brenda says. "I hope you don't feel like I tried to pull somethin' over on you."
"Eric told me he was going to encourage you to apply," Jackie says. "And it may not be official, but Eric always gets what he wants." She smiles, reaches out to shake Brenda's hand. "Let me know if you need anything, all right?"
Brenda nods, shakes her hand, watches her walk down the hall. She puts the plastic lid back on her coffee and holds the warm cup close to her chest.
Oh god. She might actually get this job.
oooo
Parrots squawk all over Los Angeles, it seems. The noise wakes Brenda up but in a familiar, reassuring way. Some things change, some always stay the same. Sharon sleeps beside her. She sleeps the sleep of the dead - falling asleep quickly and staying there, rising only when her chirpy little alarm sounds. She doesn't toss or turn or waking up crying. She'll wake up, though, if Brenda has a rough night, Brenda has found. She's woken up a few times with Sharon hovering over her, concerned lines on her face, asking if she's okay. She always is in the end.
This morning the birds wake her but the sun is already bright and streaming into the big bedroom window. Under the covers, she can feel Sharon's foot against her leg.
Brenda lets her sleep, slipping out of the bed and padding into the bathroom for her morning constitutional and then out into the kitchen to start the pot of coffee. While that's brewing, she cleans up a little. There are still candy wrappers everywhere. She'd gotten used to living in apartments in urban neighborhoods where there weren't a lot of kids out and about, but they'd gotten so many trick-or-treaters last night that she'd sent Rusty to the 7-11 to pick up more candy. And then had eaten a ton of it herself. So much, in fact, that she feels a little jittery from all the sugar, even hours later.
Maybe it's not the sugar causing the jitters, though.
The door to the room that Rusty sleeps in is still closed and she listens hard for a moment before cracking it to see that he's just a lump under the covers, snoring softly. They stay at the condo during the week, usually, because it's closer to everyone's work, but they stay at the house on weekends and lots of the time, Rusty comes too, which Brenda loves. He's started calling her Bren lately, like a little nickname. "Where's my mom, Bren?" he'll say. It's cute. He's also started calling Sharon mom more than by her name, like something has shifted inside of him. Like something has told him he's finally found a family that might stick.
She closes his door softly and pads back to the kitchen to watch the coffee brew. When the machine beeps, she pours two mugs and doctors them up right. Carries them through the little living room with the soft teal couch and the hand woven rug, the art Sharon had picked out on the walls, back to the bedroom. She sets a white mug on Sharon's nightstand and sips at her own. Sharon stirs a little but doesn't quite wake up.
In the other corner of the bedroom is a big, overstuffed chair, so Brenda just settles herself right into it with her coffee and looks out the window at the garden and the blue water of the swimming pool, sparkling in the morning sun.
It's going to be a long day either way, so she's going to steal a few moments of quiet.
But Sharon wakes before too long, her feet moving first, just a hint of movement under the covers. Then she rolls from her side to her back and stretches, letting one forearm fall against her forehead. Finally, she opens her eyes, yawning and blinking. She sees the coffee cup when she's squinting to see the clock and turns to look at Brenda's chair.
"You're awake," she says. Brenda nods before she realizes Sharon probably can't see that subtle of a movement without her glasses.
"Yeah," she says.
Sharon pushes up onto her elbows for just a moment before dropping down again with a groan.
"We should go running," she says.
"Let's skip it today," Brenda says. "You can swim later if it warms up." It's been a long, unseasonable indian summer and it shows no sign of breaking. The mornings, like now, are cool and she can see the leaves on her sycamore tree browning but it's nothing like autumn at home in Atlanta and by mid-afternoon it'll be eighty degrees.
It's not like Brenda to skip a jog, even a short one. It's one of the few disciplines she keeps and Sharon reaches for her coffee mug and sits up just enough to sip at it, and then clear her throat and say, "Today?"
Brenda doesn't say anything, the warm ceramic mug in both hands.
"Today!" Sharon says. "It's today!"
"For the whole rest of the day," Brenda confirms.
"You smart ass," Sharon says, pushing back the covers. "I'm still going to make you breakfast. What do you want? Pancakes? I think there's still strawberries in there. Waffles?"
"I don't think I have a waffle iron anymore," Brenda says.
"Pancakes," Sharon says, stepping into her slippers and reaching for her glasses. She slips them on and smiles. "There you are."
"You don't have to cook," Brenda says. "It's not the first day of school. I'm not going to take a test."
"Rusty will want breakfast," Sharon says. "Don't be selfish."
Brenda rolls her eyes. Sharon's always short when she wakes up but it's a shortness tempered with sleepy warmth so Brenda tries not to take it to heart. Sharon finds her robe on the hook by the closet and slips it on, belting it and running her hands through her hair a few times.
"Don't rush off," Brenda says. "Finish your coffee. He's still asleep. Anyway, I might have to work all weekend so…"
She trails off, unsure. Then again, she might not.
"I'm going to brush my teeth," Sharon says. That's a euphemism for go pee, Brenda has learned. Sharon is all for intimacy but it stops quite abruptly at the bathroom door.
"Okay," she says.
Brenda relocates to one of the stools at the island in the kitchen. If Sharon really wants to make her breakfast, she's not going to help but she'll certainly keep the cook company. When Sharon reappears, she leans in to kiss her but Brenda turns her head at the last minute and gives Sharon only cheek.
"You haven't brushed your teeth," she says accusingly.
"Makes me coffee taste weird, I'll do it after," Brenda says.
Sharon starts pulling things out of Brenda's cupboards, most things newly purchased and still unused. She's glad Sharon seems to know where everything is because Brenda certainly doesn't. Brenda just watches her for a while and it's not until she cracks an egg against the rim of a metal bowl that Sharon mentions it.
"When are you supposed to get the call?" She tries to sound casual, bless her heart.
"I can't rightly say," Brenda says. Sharon doesn't like that sort of answer at all and levels a look at Brenda over the rim of her glasses. "It comes when it comes!"
"We're just supposed to wait around until that happens?" Sharon says. "To just be okay with that?"
"I guess so," Brenda says. "You don't have to, I suppose."
"Oh sure," Sharon says, tossing the eggshells into the sink. "Rusty and I will just go to the beach or something, just go out and fritter the day away."
"You're such a joy today," Brenda says. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"
"Just pined after me for a year with your big brown puppy dog eyes," Sharon says with a smirk. "All that quiet longing."
"I did no such thing," Brenda says but Sharon barks out a laugh because they both know it's a lie, and a bold one at that.
The door down the hall opens.
"The beast rises," Sharon says. She means it as a joke, Brenda knows but then she does look a little frightened for a moment and says, "Rusty!"
Brenda turns and sees that Rusty's still got his Halloween makeup on, pale white face, dark eyes, though smeared. Some of it had worn away in the night as he slept.
"Did you ruin the sheets?" Brenda asks.
"I'll wash them," Rusty promises which means yes. No wonder Sharon always bought him dark, patterned sheets. The little yellow flowered sheets on his bed never stood a chance. "Coffee?"
"Yep," Brenda says. "And breakfast, too."
"Oh, what did we do to deserve breakfast?" he asks, pulling a mug from the cupboard and pouring himself coffee.
"Your mama has to channel her nervous energy into something," Brenda says. Sharon scrunches up her face a little in distaste but doesn't say anything in her own defense because Brenda isn't wrong.
"Set the table," she says, instead. Brenda isn't sure who she's talking to, so she hops off her stool and she and Rusty both do it, carrying plates and silverware and glasses into the dining room. There's a dark wooden table in here and six chairs, though Brenda would've been happy with four. Sharon had said she'll have to entertain if she gets a political job so Brenda had kept the chairs, in the end. Plus, this way they'll have enough for when Ricky and Emily come to visit, and Charlie too.
They're halfway through breakfast when the landline rings.
Everyone freezes.
"You get it," Brenda blurts on the second ring because she feels paralyzed in her seat. Sharon takes control, hopes up and grabs the phone, pushes the button and answers it as easily as anything.
"Hello?"
Brenda has never looked at anything as hard as she's looking and Sharon's face now. Not a monitor in the electronics room, not the sneer of a cold blooded killer, not even her mama laying in her casket.
"Yes, hello. Good morning to you too, sir," Sharon says. She listens for a few moments. The smile starts out small, reserved, but then it starts to grow. "She is, she's right here. Hold on a moment, please."
Sharon holds the phone to her chest and gives Brenda a big, very real smile. "It's for you."
Brenda nods, relief flooding her system, pressure lifting from her chest. She breathes out in a huff. "Okay."
"Okay," Sharon says and hands her the phone. Brenda takes it, their fingers brushing.
She brings the phone to her ear and says, "Chief Johnson."
Sharon watches her with her clear eyes, her pretty hair, her long legs and just beams.
Brenda feels her heart constrict in her chest, feels her pulse start to race, feels herself fall just a little bit more in love.