Title: The Benefit of Good Company
Summary: This is what Joanne needs.
Notes: Pre-RENT. (Also, this was a very strange pairing for me to write that required me to definitely step outside my own thoughts for a while, so I'd appreciate you all telling me what you think about it). Also, thanks missxflawless and LifeIsTooQuick.
"This has been the worst day of my life."
That's what the answering machine has to say to Joanne when she pushes the play button. As if having a long day of work at her new firm which consisted more of being judged and prejudiced against than of, say, doing her job, wasn't enough. No, what she really needs right now is the long-suffering sigh that she hears on the machine, accompanied by a deep breath that indicates that the caller still had more to say.
"I mean it, Joanne. You can't even imagine how hard things are for me. Not all of us have little careers that we can run to whenever we're feeling down. Some of us actually like having to rely on people when we're having a crisis Not that I'm trying to say that I don't love talking to your answering machine. It's just that I think I'd rather talk to you, if you can fit me into your busy schedule."
Joanne sighs. Her finger hovers over the delete button and she considers it, knowing already what she will do.
"Anyway, don't bother calling me back. I feel horrible. I'm going out tonight. If you get this message before, like, seven, maybe you can meet me at that club—you know, that one that I really like. If not, then I'll call you again tomorrow." Another long sigh. "I'm getting really close to your phone, Joanne. At least it's always there for me." Joanne presses the pause button before she can hear any other messages.
Joanne checks her watch. It's seven o'clock, on the dot. But what the hell is "that club" supposed to tell her? This is not what she needs right now. She's not sure what she needs right now, but she is certain that it is not this.
Joanne heads into her bedroom. As she peels off her pinstriped office pantsuit, she thinks about what she does need. How about a job where she can actually see natural light, instead of leaving before the sunrise and coming home after the sunset? Or mail that consists of more than just bills? Or telephone calls that will leave her pleased, instead of exasperated and annoyed?
No, Joanne tells herself sarcastically. That is too much to ask for. Lately, it has felt like everything is too much to ask for. But no, that's not true. Joanne has always been a blunt person, especially to herself. So she knows what the problem is.
The problem is that she is frustrated. The problem is that she can't pinpoint exactly what it is that is frustrating her, but she thinks that it starts and ends with life in general.
Joanne heads back into the kitchen, where the phone is situated. She opens her refrigerator and reaches in to grab a bottle of water before changing her mind and grabbing a cold beer. At this point, she's desperate for help (though she would never admit that).
With a tired sigh, she turns to resume playing the messages on her answering machine.
"Hey, Kitten. We haven't heard from you in awhile; your mother's not too happy about that. How have you been? Did you get the job with that firm? Look, Jo, your mom and I were talking, and we were thinking that it might be reasonable for you to move a little closer to home—and it's not just because we're always wondering where you are. Call us back so we can talk."
The obligatory once-a-month "please come back home" message. Joanne makes a sound of disgust deep in her throat and pulls out a bottle opener from her drawer. She chugs half the beer down in her first sip and pulls herself up onto the counter next to the phone.
She won't be calling them back anytime soon. She loves them, very much, but she doesn't want to hear a persuasive list of reasons why she should move closer to Connecticut. Although this time, it's because she thinks that she just might be persuaded.
And dear Lord, is that really should a horrible thing? All her life, Joanne Jefferson has opted to work her way through tough situations. She always chooses the difficult path; her life is the way it is because of her penchant for choosing the option that means more work and more sacrifice. She skipped a grade when she was eight, even though it meant leaving behind her friends, and not because she was really any smarter than anyone—just because she wanted to prove that she could. When she was eighteen, she chose to go to Harvard for both undergraduate and graduate school, even though it meant leaving home for the first time in her life. And on that same note, she had insisted upon paying her parents back for all of her post-high school education. And she had consciously chosen to go into a profession where being a minority (black, female, lesbian; take your pick) would certainly work out in most situations against her, and on top of that she had just moved to New York, where she knew absolutely no one.
So why shouldn't she, for once, for the first time ever, throw in the metaphorical towel and take the easy way out? Maybe she's tired of fighting. She's ready to lay her head down and rest.
Oblivious to Joanne's internal ranting, the messages on the phone continue.
"Um, hi, I hope this is Joanne …I'm Paul, I'm friends with Lydia, and she told me that you might be interested in going out on a date or—"
She doesn't even bother to listen to the rest of the message. With a glare at the machine, she stops the rambling voice and channels all her anger on Lydia, her "friend" who still cannot resist giving Joanne's number to every person she meets, male or female, despite the fact that Joanne is a lesbian. Lydia claims that Joanne is "too stressed out" and "needs to have some fun."
"What I need is for you to leave me alone!" Joanne shouts at the machine before she even realizes the words are out of her mouth.
And it doesn't even matter, anyway, because there's no one there to hear her yell at inanimate objects. She's in this one all on her own, as usual. This is how it goes. Joanne is supposed to know how to clean up her own messes. She's an accomplished individual; she's supposed to understand herself.
It's just one of those days, she reassures herself. But it's not; it's one of those weeks, one of those months.
And what was it that Rick had said at work today? Oh, that was right. He had looked at her and said, "Joanne. If you're going to do a job, do it right. You're lucky you're even here in the first place, don't screw up our company in the process."
Even thinking about the comment pisses Joanne off. He had somehow managed to insinuate, all in a mock-friendly tone, that Joanne's only purpose in the company lay in the words "affirmative action." And what angered her, even more than the fact that she hadn't spoken up in her own defense, was that what he said wasn't true.
Maybe Lydia is right, for once in her life, though. Maybe what Joanne does need is to have a good time. Joanne mentally cringes at the thought. Is she really going to go through with this? She's a lesbian, so this is inherently insensitive…but damn, it would be nice to spend an evening with someone who would at least somewhat care.
The phone rings.
Joanne wants to pick it up, she really does. She hates those people who just let it ring and ring, or purposely wait for the machine to get it. But right now she's feeling a little wary about talking to just anyone, even if that's all she really wants.
The machine beeps, and a familiar voice fills the air.
"Joanne. I know you're there. Pick up the phone. Do you hear me? Pick. Up. The. Phone." There is a long pause, and then that oh-so-recognizable sigh. "For the love of God, Joanne! I thought we were…I don't know, something. At least friends. Friends don't ignore each other when one of them is going through a crisis. Look, Joanne, I just…you know what? Forget it." There is the click of a phone hanging up.
Joanne stares at the phone for a minute before nodding. Yes, she's doing this. She replays Paul's message, copies down his number, and lifts her fingers to dial.
An hour and a half later, she's not sure if it was such a good idea.
Paul's a nice enough guy. He's even somewhat good-looking—for a man, that is. And Joanne dressed up a little too, forcing herself into one of the few dresses she owns. Yes, she still looks sensible, but it's at least an attractive brand of sensible. The ambience in the restaurant is decent, as well. Low lights and the quintessential quiet music in the background along with the clink of forks against plates and the gentle murmurs of the highs and lows of conversations.
It's just that maybe this whole thing isn't what she wanted. Yes, Joanne desperately wants company, but she's starting to realize that it's more than just anyone's company that she wants.
"So." Paul's voice interrupts Joanne's thoughts, though it sounds as if he's had to repeat himself several times. He has a comforting sort of voice, she notes. In her years as a lawyer, Joanne has gotten very good at reading people. Paul is a usually confident man who has the kind of voice and smile that makes you feel like telling him everything. Well, unless you're Joanne.
"So," Paul says again, and clears his throat. At this moment, Paul does not possess much, if any, of his confidence. He scratches his head. "What was it that you said you do, again?"
"Lawyer," Joanne responds promptly. She reaches for her glass to take a sip of water and suddenly remembers her manners. "I'm sorry, I don't remember if I've asked. What do you do?"
Paul smiles a little. "You didn't ask. But I'm a therapist."
"Oh," Joanne manages. A lawyer and a therapist, sitting together at the most uncomfortable dinner Joanne has ever been to. She takes another sip of water and her thoughts drift again, this time to the messages on her answering machine. By the time she gets home, will there be another message left, this time declaring that Joanne will never be spoken to again? She shakes her head a little. I wouldn't be surprised.
"You agree?" Paul is asking. It's only then that Joanne realizes that he's been talking this entire time. Following that comes the realization that Paul has spent the majority of this dinner talking, and that Joanne has spent the majority of the time not paying attention. And following that comes the realization that if this is really the most uncomfortable date she's ever been on, then perhaps the blame falls on the shoulders of Joanne for not even attempting to make an effort.
She owes it to Paul to apologize. She sets down her glass and sighs. "Look," She begins. "I'm sorry. But I'm not…I can't…I shouldn't even be wasting your time. It was a mistake for me to even come here. Let me just leave before this gets any worse." She gets up to go, but is stopped by Paul.
He looks relieved. "No, stay! You have no idea just how glad I am that you said that. I'm just getting over a difficult break-up myself, and I am really not ready to start any sort of relationship. In fact, I basically invited you here because I was, uh, well…lonely," He admits.
That sounds familiar. Slowly, Joanne sits down. "Me too," She confesses, before she realizes the words are out of her mouth.
It's amazing how much the atmosphere between them changes after their short confessions. As soon as Joanne scoots her chair back in, she finds it much easier to pay attention to Paul.
"Another thing," Paul says, in a tone that seems to imply since-I-said-that-I-might-as-well-say-this, "This whole evening I've been talking, and to be honest, I'm much more of a listener. And…because I knew you weren't listening, I've spent the entire duration of this date talking about…my ex-girlfriend." He winces slightly, as if expecting Joanne to cast a harsh judgment upon him.
Joanne can only give a dry laugh. "I'm a lesbian."
Paul blinks. "Well," he says, "I guess you win." But he smiles in a way that makes Joanne smile too, and soon they're both laughing in one of those uncommon bonding-with-strangers sort of ways.
"So," Paul says, but this time it's in a good manner, not an awkward one. "Tell me about yourself."
Though they've shared a moment of commiseration, Joanne remembers that Paul doesn't know her. "Not much to say," She says bluntly. "I'm not a big fan of talking about myself, anyway."
"Hey, I'm a therapist. I'm not going to tell anyone anything; I'm used to confidentiality agreements. Besides," he adds, "I'm sure I could get something out of you."
"I'm a lawyer, remember?" Joanne shoots back. "I know how to get what I want."
"Touché."
Joanne tilts her head in self-satisfied acknowledgement, and their food arrives. With the promise of good-smelling food and a much more bearable date sitting across from her, Joanne thinks that maybe the evening won't be such a disaster after all.
As Paul begins to eat, he focuses on her again. "Really, though," He says, and waits for her to swallow her linguini. "The only reason I ask is because I know that earlier, when we weren't really communicating, I was thinking about my ex-girlfriend. So it just stands to reason that you might be thinking of someone similar. And, hey, there's no better person to talk about your problems with than someone who you'll never see again, right?" He punctuates his last word with a bite of fresh trout. "Mmm," he says. "Food's good."
Joanne nods in agreement and thinks quickly about what he said. He just might be right. "So, essentially, you're offering me a free counseling session."
"Call it what you like," Paul says, the barest of grins threatening the earnest expression on his face.
Joanne thinks back to the messages on her machines, and then further back to how frustrated she's been at work lately. Is it possible that her work frustrations are related to the problems in her personal life? And is it possible that when she's declared that she wants company, what she really means is someone who she can talk to?
It's possible. It's very possible.
Joanne sighs, and Paul looks up from his food. "Good food," He repeats, as if he thinks that's what she's going to talk about. Joanne gives him one of her patented cut-the-crap looks, and he immediately straightens up.
Joanne takes a deep breath and a stab at her pasta. "Her name," she begins, "is Maureen."
By the time she gets home, Joanne is tired but strangely satisfied. Talking to Paul had somehow cleared things up in her life. She feels…good. It's not a feeling she usually has, but she thinks that maybe she likes it.
As she approaches her apartment, though, she feels the feeling start to slip away. It's replaced by a nervous sensation. In front of her apartment door stands drama-annoyance-exasperation-sexiness-flirtiness-beauty-anger-impatience-exaggeraton-power. There stands Maureen.
"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting here?" Maureen asks. She glares at Joanne, big brown eyes turned on full blast.
"No. Although I have a feeling that you're about to tell me."
"Where were you?!" Maureen explodes. "I've been here for an hour!"
Joanne gathers herself up to her full height and gives Maureen a look. She's not very tall, but she knows she can be intimidating. Somehow, it seems that Maureen has never noticed this quality about her. "I was out," She says firmly, "on a date."
A hurt expression flashes across Maureen's face. It's quickly covered up, though, and Maureen's anger fades instantly. "Oh," She says.
"How's Matt?" Joanne asks frankly, as if to drive her point in even more. They've never talked about these feelings between them, but nothing's going to work out if Maureen can't bring herself to lose her security blanket.
"His name is Mark," Maureen tells her quietly.
"Sorry."
"It's fine. He's fine." Maureen crosses her arms, bites her lip, and doesn't offer any more information.
Joanne waits a beat and nods. She steps up to her door, unlocks it, and isn't surprised when Maureen follows her in. Joanne turns to lock the door, and when she turns back around there's Maureen, standing in front of her.
There's Maureen, standing in front of her.
And there's Maureen, standing right in front of her, leaning in, and there are Maureen's lips, soft against hers, and Maureen's hair, smelling like vanilla, and when they break apart, there are Maureen's eyes, unnaturally bright.
Maureen's a walking exclamation point. The only thing gentle about her, Joanne has discovered, are her kisses.
"I want this," Maureen says.
"I do too."
"But I can't break things off with Mark yet. He needs me." Joanne can see how someone could need Maureen. Maybe because she seems to be in that place at this very instant.
As if reading her thoughts, Maureen grins widely. "But, I mean, how could he not, right?"
Joanne's not sure whether to laugh or to glare at Maureen. Is this really what she wants to get herself wrapped up in? Being with Maureen means excitement, and exuberance, but maybe more of both than she can handle. Maureen will be a handful, and stressful on top of it. She will lie and refuse to acknowledge what she doesn't want to hear. She'll laugh when Joanne's mad, and she'll get angry at insignificant things. And goodness, will there ever be a time when Maureen isn't acting?
Joanne thinks back to just a few moments ago. Yes, she thinks, there will be.
Joanne doesn't bother to answer Maureen. She just grabs her hand and pulls her down beside her on the couch. She thinks about the girl she saw the other day, a young woman who was just spinning around, laughing, in the middle of life. A relationship with Maureen—it's the difference between admiring that girl and actually dancing with her. She thinks that it just might be worth it.
But first, there's something she has to know.
"What was your crisis?" She asks. "The one you were talking about on the answering machine?"
Maureen tilts her head back and laughs, and Joanne smiles just watching her. "Oh, that," She says. She slips her fingers in between Joanne's and turns to look at her. "It was just that I thought I might be in love with you."