Title: High Society

Chapter 6: Fashionably Late

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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Thursday at a few minutes before noon, Charlie rubbed his forehead with a bemused smile, and repeated into the receiver. "He's counting on me to be there. Okay. Same time Friday night? All right, Ramon, you can tell him I plan on it, and thank you." He hung up, shook his head, and stared at his desktop with faint incredulity in his smile. How had he gotten to the point in life where he was on a first-name basis with J. T. Morrison's personal assistant? Even more astounding, the big guy himself was calling with weekly invitations. He glanced at his watch as he rose from his desk; he had plans to eat lunch with Amita in her office. Wait until she got a load of the latest invitation – Ramon had dropped names of the attendees; including everyone from the latest Hollywood A-list stars to sports phenoms. More intriguing to Charlie were the international businessmen, who sometimes included technical specialists. There was always someone interesting from the scientific community there – granted; they tended to be involved in far-out projects, on the fringes of sensational, but they certainly made for fascinating conversations.

He'd been spending more time with Amita, lately; it was only natural, he thought to himself, since they were going to be husband and wife. The time he spent with her, the Friday nights at the Morrison estate, the many projects he was working on, all conspired to make it appear as though his life was full. In truth, however, in terms of the people to whom he was really close, his circle was shrinking. Since he wasn't consulting, he didn't spend time with Don's team, and God only knew, he and Don were barely speaking, much less spending time together. The departure of Larry had hurt more than he wanted to acknowledge; for the first time in many years he was without his close friend and mentor. His small group of acquaintances had taken a drastic hit, and in reality, had diminished to only Amita and his father. He counted on her these days more than he cared to admit.

It was with a twinge of disappointment, then, when he walked into her office to see Dr. Dane Rastenbaum lounging in a chair across from her desk. Amita already had her lunch out and was gesturing animatedly with a half-sandwich in one hand as she argued a point of logic in one of their equations. Charlie stopped to admire her from the doorway; her face alight, her eyes flashing as she made her case. God, she was beautiful, especially when she was like this - her eyes alive with intelligence. He began to ease into the room, trying not to interrupt her conversation, but the movement made her head turn, and a slight scowl passed over her face at the interruption, until she saw it was Charlie. "Oh, Charlie, I hope you don't mind if Dane sits in on our lunch. He stopped earlier with a question, and I told him we could discuss it at lunchtime."

"Of course not," said Charlie affably, as he settled into a chair next to Rastenbaum. In fact, he thought, the discussion might be interesting.

Amita, for some reason, found the arrangement unexpectedly disconcerting. With the two men sitting across from her, both lounging easily with attentive smiles on their faces and an undeniable gleam of attraction in their eyes, she couldn't help but compare them. Charlie was slight, not much taller than she was, although his body, as she knew well, was tight, with wiry muscles, the package topped with those sexy, adorable dark curls. His performance in bed was more than satisfying; he had boundless energy– what he lacked in experience with women he made up for in eagerness to please. The expression on his face personified that – he was looking at her with open admiration and love on his face; he hadn't the guile to hide it.

Dane's expression on the other hand, while also admiring, smacked of experience and sophistication. He had a worldly gleam in his eye and an amused smile on his face that made her feel flustered; he looked almost as if he was imagining what it would be like for them to be in bed together, and when she looked at his tall muscular body, so different from Charlie's, it made her wonder, herself. She pushed the thoughts away impatiently; she was an engaged woman, for God's sake, she couldn't be thinking like this. Thank goodness for the current sticky little problem with their equations; it gave her something on which to focus.

Focus she did, until class time, and with a start, she realized that she'd been directing her points almost entirely to Dane, and had virtually ignored Charlie. It wasn't Charlie's project, she reminded herself, but she couldn't deny the slightly disappointed look on his face, as he packed up the uneaten portion of his lunch – the better part of it, from the looks of it. "Charlie, I'm sorry, I hadn't planned for the discussion to take so much time."

Charlie gave her a quiet smile. "Nonsense, don't apologize; it was interesting to hear."

Rastenbaum had risen and collected his things. "Yes, she's right," he said smoothly. "I do apologize – I'll leave you two alone." He looked at Amita. "I'm still not entirely convinced, although you do make some good points." Was it her imagination, or did his gaze flicker to her chest at that last comment? She flushed a little as he continued. "We can pick it up tomorrow night."

"Sure," she said, and turned to Charlie as Dane walked out. "I really am sorry." Why did she feel the need to apologize, she wondered? God, she felt uncomfortable.

"That's okay," he said again. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"Tonight?" she looked at him blankly. "What was tonight?"

He managed, just barely, to keep his face from dropping. "We were going to ride out to Santa Monica."

"Oh, God, we were," she lamented. "Oh, Charlie, I really can't. I have tests to grade tonight – I am so behind. Can we do it this weekend?"

"Sure," he responded automatically. He was disappointed, but in fact, he had tests of his own to grade. "Not Friday night, of course – you're meeting with Dr. Rastenbaum, and I've got another function at Morrison's."

Her eyes widened a little, and suddenly the tables were turned; she felt just a twinge of jealousy. She would love to go with him to see it, just once. "Again? Wow – he must have really taken a shine to you." She smiled. "Although I can't blame him."

He felt a warm glow at her last statement, but shrugged, deprecatingly. "I'm a novelty – I'm sure it'll wear off soon."

"I know," she said, brightening as the thought occurred to her. "We can get up early Saturday; go for a longer drive – maybe Big Sur – maybe do a picnic, some hiking?"

He grinned, for some reason feeling relieved. "Sure, that sounds much better anyway." He took a step forward and gave her a quick kiss. "I'll see you Saturday then, if I don't see you tomorrow."

………………………

He didn't. Friday evening rolled around and Amita reflected, as she hurriedly dialed for pizza, that she hadn't seen Charlie since lunchtime the day before. He'd called her last evening to wish her goodnight, but she'd been in the shower, and had missed the call. By the time she'd realized he'd left the message, it was late – too late to call him back. She'd explain Saturday morning, she'd decided – Charlie had told her he would pick her up at 8:30 a.m. Right now, she needed to get prepared for her session with Dane. They'd agreed to meet in her office, order a pizza, and work through the evening.

The project was huge, intense, and mind-boggling, but it was exciting. She enjoyed the heated discussions she had with Dane, the verbal sparring – it was a bit like flirting, in math lingo. The thought made her feel slightly guilty, but she pushed it away. Really, she thought, how nerdy did you have to be to feel guilty about bandying equations back and forth? Charlie must be rubbing off on her.

As the evening wore on, however, she realized that wasn't the only rubbing that was going on. As she moved toward the board to explain a point, Dane had shifted away to make room in the cramped space in front of the board, and his arm casually brushed hers.

"Sorry," he said quietly, but his intense gaze made Amita suspect that he was anything but sorry.

She shook herself mentally as soon as she had the thought; she was reading way too much into this. "No problem."

She launched back into the discussion, and had forgotten about the brief contact, until she backed away from the board – right into Dane. He had moved behind her while she'd been working, and surprised, she stumbled a bit. He caught her from behind, grabbing her arms to steady her.

"I'm sorry," he said into her hair. "I didn't mean to startle you." He held her for just a moment longer than necessary, and she could feel his chest, lightly touching her back, smell the scent of him.

"That's okay," she stammered, pulling away from him, blushing to the roots of her hair. Dear God, she was breathing heavily. "I just didn't know you were back there." She shot a surreptitious glance behind her to see him smiling, with the same amused, seductive smile he'd worn earlier. The phone rang, saving her, and she all but ran across the room to get it. "Oh," she breathed with relief, "the pizza's here. I'll just run down and get it."

…………………………..

"Pizza's here!" called Alan cheerfully, as he crossed the room to get the door.

Charlie finished buttoning his new shirt, and looked down at it, giving it a tug, as Alan swung the door open. "Dad, I told you, I didn't have time. I'm going to Morrison's tonight."

"Donnie!" exclaimed his father, beaming, and shooting a glance at Charlie to be sure he'd heard. "What a nice surprise."

Charlie glanced up scowling, and looked back down, pretending to fiddle with a button on his shirt. "Well, look who decided to make an appearance," he muttered. Don had come over a week and a half ago to complain that he hadn't been told about the engagement, and hadn't been back since – not even a phone call to ask him about the wedding, he thought. His brother apparently couldn't care less about one of the biggest events in his younger brother's life. He looked up, his expression cool. "Don." The name dropped from his lips like an ice cube.

Don stared at him and looked uncertain for a moment, but then an equally guarded expression came over his face. "Nice shirt, Chuck. You going out with Amita?"

Charlie grabbed his jacket and swung it over his shoulder, heading for the door. "She's working tonight. I'm heading up to Morrison's."

Alan stood his ground, next to Don in the doorway. "Certainly you can stick around for a slice of pizza," he protested. "It's gauche to be early – or even on time."

Charlie hesitated. His father was right, he knew. The last time, he'd been a few minutes late, and was still one of the first guests to arrive. He sighed, and tossed his jacket on the sofa. There was no need to go running out of his own house, just because Don was there. "Yeah, maybe I should wait a while," he mumbled. He shot a furtive glance at Don as he stepped around the sofa, and his brother followed him, settling in a chair as Charlie took a seat.

Alan bustled toward the kitchen. "Anyone want a beer?"

"I will, thanks," said Don.

"No thanks," said Charlie. Silence fell, and they stared at each other.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably. "So how's work?"

Don shrugged. "The usual."

Charlie looked away and rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to rat on you to the North Koreans, you know."

Don began to frown; then a grin crept to his face, unexpectedly. "Yeah, but you may spill to the tabloids, when they interview about your hot night life."

Charlie tried to keep a stern expression, but the grin on his brother's face made his lips quirk a little. They looked at each other, and for a moment, it felt like old times, like the blossoming camaraderie they'd been developing before Charlie had lost his clearance.

Don rubbed his head. "Yeah, Colby and David made the point that not all of our cases require clearance. I s'pose I could talk about those."

Alan came back out, holding two beers, and handed one to Don. He looked at Charlie. "Are you sure you don't want one?"

"No, I'm driving, and I've got to leave soon." Charlie looked back at Don, about to prompt him to elaborate, but Don was frowning again.

"What are you going back up there for, anyway?" Don said.

Charlie shrugged defensively and looked away. Just like that, the moment was gone. "It's a good opportunity to promote my book. And maybe I just want to go. It's an interesting crowd."

Don snorted. "Yeah, I bet."

"There was a nude woman floating in the pool at one party," Alan offered helpfully.

"There were also a couple of senators, and a nuclear physicist who just happened to win the Nobel prize," Charlie shot back. "And writers, publishers, and business moguls, along with the movie stars. They weren't all airheads."

Don took a drink of beer, and shook his head. "I still say it's a waste of your time, at best, and not the kind of crowd you should hang with."

"I'll be the judge of that," muttered Charlie.

"Oh, yeah, like your selection of Pakistani email buddies. Now there was some good judgment," Don retorted. "D'you think hanging with this crowd is gonna get you your clearance back?"

"Don," admonished Alan, but Charlie had heard enough. He got to his feet and grabbed his jacket.

"Sure, waltz into my house, drink my beer, and tell me what to do," he snapped, as he headed toward the door. "I've got better ways to spend my time. I'll see you later, Dad." He slammed the door behind him, and Don glowered, but his shoulders slumped a little. He'd intended for this to be a peacemaking visit, and instead, it had turned into another argument. Their relationship was mired in muck and sinking deeper by the day – and he hadn't the foggiest idea of what to do about it. He glanced up, took one look at his father's despondent expression, and downed the rest of his beer.

…………………………

Charlie gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles on the way up Mulholland. Really, he thought, it was starting to become obvious – Don had control issues. He apparently missed bossing Charlie around on cases, and so was channeling his overbearing attitude toward Charlie's personal life instead. The idea, the gall of it, made him furious, so angry that it almost eclipsed the sense of loss he felt, deep underneath. His relationship with Don was going under, sinking like the Titanic, and he had no idea how to stop it.

Right at the moment, though, he was so thoroughly pissed that he almost didn't care. Who in the hell did Don think he was, anyway? Where did he get off trying to tell him who could or could not be his friends? "He's got another think coming," he muttered to himself as he wheeled sharply into the gated entrance, and waited to be admitted. Don was jealous; he was sure – jealous that Charlie was moving up in the world, envious of his success. All of his life, Don had been the popular one, and now that the tables were turned, his brother couldn't deal with it. Well, it was just too bad. He would be friends with whoever he damn well pleased.

He nearly leapt out of the Prius, handing over his keys and cell phone to the valet abstractedly. Another valet stepped aside and hit speed dial, murmuring into his cell phone. "He's here, sir."

"Thank you," said Morrison into the phone. He was already hovering near the doorway; the professor was a half hour late, and Morrison had begun to fear he wasn't coming. He was speaking with a wealthy young French playboy and his well-endowed partner, a local Hollywood hopeful, who had just landed a role in a torrid-sounding B flick, and J.T. maneuvered so that he could see the door. As his doorman opened it and Morrison saw Charlie step in and glance around, he felt an instant surge of heat, which manifested itself as only a flicker in his eyes. He pointed the couple to the bar, and excused himself, noting as he walked toward the professor that he looked decidedly out of sorts.

"Charlie!" he greeted him with a smile, and a two-handed clasp. The touch of Charlie's skin sent a jolt of electricity through him. His tone became teasing as he turned to escort Charlie into the room. "Fashionably late, I see."

Charlie was already flushed, and his color deepened. Although he was trying to hide it, Morrison caught a glimpse of residual anger on his face. "I'm sorry," said Charlie. "I got held up."

"Nothing serious, I hope," murmured J.T.

"No, just – frustrating."

Morrison threw an arm over Charlie's shoulders, and smiled, as he guided him toward the bar. "Well, we'll park all of that at the door, shall we? Let's get you a drink." 'Make that several,' Morrison thought to himself. He intended to get to know Charles Eppes better before the night was over, not only to get information about him, but also to find out if his fed brother would pose a problem – and most importantly, to begin to set up a relationship with the young man. He was trying to follow the advice of his lawyer and take things slowly, but as he gave Charlie's shoulder what he hoped was a friendly squeeze, he knew that was going to be much harder than it sounded.

…………………………

End Chapter 6

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