Title: High Society

Chapter 10: Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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A Dodger escort actually met them at the VIP entrance and led Charlie and Alan to Loge 101. That in itself was an overwhelming experience. Alan and his sons had attended games before, but they had arrived three hours early, parked at least half-a-mile away, and stood in line at the general admission gate like everyone else. Now, they were strolling through the packed bleachers a mere half-hour before the opening pitch, living the high life. Unbelievable.

Various beverages had been available in the limo. While Alan had indulged in an imported beer not even carried at local grocery stores, Charlie had stuck with bottled water. Very expensive bottled water; he almost felt guilty drinking it.

As their escort led them through the loge level, the Eppes men snuck an occasional peek through an open door. Each loge seemed to contain a Super Bowl party. Beautiful people stood at the large, glass windows, or lounged in the comfortable seating area. Large-screen televisions were mounted on each side of the room – tuned to the field, of course, where the Dodgers were still warming up -- for those who couldn't be bothered to look out the window. A waiter carrying a tray of canapés scurried past, and Alan was glad Charlie talked him out of frying a chicken.

Loge 101 was already a hubbub of activity when the escort deposited them at the door. Slightly overwhelmed, Charlie searched the room for J.T., or someone he recognized from one of the parties. "That view is magnificent," Alan breathed, almost mesmerized, and began to walk toward the front of the loge. Charlie followed his gaze and stood in semi-shock himself. They were directly behind home plate. He could see Jumbotrons at each edge of his vision. One was displaying close-ups of the players on the field, and the other was roaming the fans in the bleachers. When he managed to lift his eyes from the field, Charlie saw that the view was indeed breathtaking. Downtown Los Angeles shimmered to the South; the green, tree-lined Elysian hills were to the North and the East. The San Gabriel Mountains could actually be seen in the far background. "Holy shit," Charlie breathed.

A familiar chuckle came from his right, and Charlie whipped his head around to find his brother. "Couldn't have said it better myself," Don observed, raising his own bottle of water in a toast. "There's some righteous-looking brew up at the bar, but I'm on-call until midnight. You think we'll be here that long?"

Charlie smiled, happy to see Don so relaxed in his company. "How long have you been here?"

Don lowered an almost-empty bottle from his mouth and watched his father at the window. "This is my second one," he answered, hefting the plastic a little. "I had no idea; I thought I was going to have to wait in line, so I came out early."

"I had no idea either," Charlie assured him. "I don't usually travel in these circles."

Don was determined to make a pleasant afternoon of it, and let that one go. He turned and smiled at his brother, indicating Alan with a tilt of the head. "He's loving this, Chuck." A shadow passed over Charlie's face and Don hurried on. "Me, too, of course. I'm just saying – I'm glad you thought to include Dad." He dared to bump Charlie lightly with his elbow. "Makes up for forgetting Father's Day!"

Charlie reddened and started searching the room again. "I did not! Amita and I gave him a card. He asked us not to get him anything else – you cheated with the whole First Edition book thing!"

Don laughed. "How could I pass it up? I knew To Kill a Mockingbird is one of his favorites! Hell, I wasn't even really looking for it – Robin and I found it in a little antique shop in Carmel."

"Whatever," Charlie huffed. "Have you seen J.T.?"

"I don't think he's here yet," answered Don. "That chess-playing actor is up by the bar – hasn't been more than three feet from it for half-an-hour." He moved closer to Charlie and lowered his voice. "Is the naked woman here?"

Charlie laughed and shook his head. Damn, he had missed this; this easy camaraderie with Don. It was a bittersweet moment. He wished he could feel this close to his brother all the time, not just when they were working a case together – or when Charlie fed Don's baseball fever. Surprised to find himself curious, he began to look around the room with his nude acquaintance in mind, wondering if he would recognize her with clothes on.

A waiter glided into view, offering a tray of appetizers – tiny pigs in eensy, weensy blankets. Don helped himself to several, but Charlie politely declined. The waiter moved on while Don was still jamming pigs in his mouth, revealing a rather austere-looking Martin Van Clefe approaching Charlie with an ingratiating leer on his face and a highball in his fist. "Dr. Eppes! Lovely that you could join us this afternoon!" he boomed.

Charlie flinched just a little – he was still fighting a headache. Besides that, Van Clefe just didn't appeal to him. He inched almost imperceptibly closer to Don and pasted a smile on his face. "Mr. Van Clefe…"

"Martin!" interrupted the attorney, pausing to pop a tiny corn dog into his mouth and wash it down with half the highball. "Call me Martin!"

"Of course," demurred Charlie. He grabbed Don's elbow, almost making him hurtle a pig and its blanket across the room. "This is my brother, Don. Don, Martin Van Clefe."

Van Clefe's eyes narrowed and he looked Don up and down as if he were a side of beef hanging in a meat market. He had finished his corn dog and now he thrust his empty hand toward the agent. "Pleased you could join us, Don!"

Don still had several piggies in one hand and a bottle of water in the other, and he hurriedly shoved the water in Charlie's direction. Charlie almost reluctantly let go of Don's elbow and accepted the water, and Don grasped Van Clefe's hand, shaking firmly. "The pleasure's all mine, believe me," he grinned. "I've been trying to find our host to thank him – I haven't enjoyed a game this much in years; and it hasn't even started yet!"

Martin Van Clefe roared and matched Don's grip strength with his own. "Ol' J.T. never shows up until about the third inning," he confided, finally lowering his voice a little. "Between you and me, I'm not even sure he likes baseball all that much – it's all about the party for J.T.!"

Don reclaimed his hand and shoved it casually in the front pocket of his jeans. "That's sacrilege," he intoned seriously.

Van Clefe laughed again, and Charlie contributed a proud aside to the conversation. "Don used to play pro ball," he announced.

Martin's eyebrows nearly met his receding hairline. "Do tell!"

Don actually reddened a little and snuck a glance at Charlie. It had been impossible to miss the bragging tone of his little brother's voice, and Don was at once gratified and embarrassed by it. "Just the minors," he explained quickly. "I played for the Stockton Rangers."

"Class A," interjected Charlie. "He was a right-handed utility player. During Don's last season he batted 228 and had 36 RBIs!"

Don stared at Charlie in speechless wonder as Van Clefe responded. "Well, well! That's quite impressive, Don – now I know who to sit next to during the game! You no longer play?"

Don dragged his gaze away from his brother and shook his head. "At the annual picnic," he shrugged. "I'm in law enforcement now."

Van Clefe pretended to be surprised. "Extraordinary – I'm an attorney, myself!"

Don nodded politely. "Perhaps we'll meet in court someday!"

Martin chuckled. "I doubt that, my good man – I specialize in entertainment law, not criminal cases." He looked quickly at Charlie. "I've been trying to convince your brother that every best-selling author needs appropriate legal representation."

It was Charlie's turn to flush with embarrassment, and it didn't escape Don's notice. "Yeah, Chuckles here is rapidly leaving the rest of us in the dust," he teased.

Charlie stiffened and Van Clefe laughed, and then raised his glass in recognition of someone behind Don. "I've enjoyed our conversation, gentlemen – intend to find you again once the game starts. I'm afraid you must excuse me, now; one of my actual clients requires my solicitation."

"Of course," Charlie murmured.

Don extended a hand to Van Clefe again. "Nice to meet one of my brother's new friends," he said. His tone was mild, but his dark eyes flashed almost dangerously. Martin filed that information as he shook Don's hand firmly and stepped beyond the brothers Eppes to greet his client.

Don waited until he was gone and then half-turned to Charlie, dropping his voice and speaking quietly. "Is there a reason you're almost standing in my shoes?" he asked. "And what's with all the elbow-grabbing, and baseball trivia?"

Charlie took a step backwards and searched the front of the loge for his father, refusing to meet Don's eyes. "It's a baseball game," he explained, as if to a two-year-old. "I thought he'd find it interesting."

Don let a beat pass. "Don't get me wrong," he said. "I've got no problem with my little brother remembering my stats from 20 years ago…. But you need to remember that I know you pretty well, too. I can tell when someone makes you uncomfortable."

Charlie finally looked at him, almost guiltily. "I don't know what it is about Van Clefe," he confided. "J.T. seems to like him – he's at all the parties. He just comes across as a little…slimy, to me."

Don smiled, and it was a hard expression that did not contain much joy. "Let's go find Dad," he suggested. "And Charlie? Trust your instincts with these people, okay?" Charlie nodded silently, a little surprised, and looked dumbly at Don's outstretched hand. Don finally poked him in the arm. "Dude. Give me back my damn water."

……………………………

It was his usual modus operandi, so no-one was really expecting him. As Martin Van Clefe had informed Charlie and Don, J.T. Morrison ordinarily didn't appear in the loge until at least the third inning. He was much more interested in impressing his guests than he was in baseball.

This Sunday afternoon was different.

Oh, J.T. still wanted to make an impression – but only on one very special guest. He was becoming obsessed with Dr. Charles Eppes. When he had first run into the professor, accidentally, at Bastide, he truly had been just a fan of Charlie's book paying his respects. The Attraction Equation had been a hot topic of conversation at several of his soirees. His last serious lover, a grip half his age named Chris, had left months before; he claimed to be disgusted by the parties. Still, he had sent J.T. a copy of the book, along with a long, tear-stained letter. Chris was sure J.T. could find true love, if only he wanted it. Morrison had laughed at the letter, balled it up and thrown it away – but the book, he kept. He appreciated the author's photo on the back cover.

He had never actually read it, himself – but he did have Charlie autograph his copy during the first party he had attended. J.T. had perused the Table of Contents, reading the chapter titles, and was able to drop strategically placed words into the conversation. Poor Dr. Eppes didn't suspect a thing.

J.T. had invited him to that first party to spice things up a bit – he grew bored, talking to and looking at the same people all the time – but Charlie had soon sparked a genuine interest on Morrison's part. The younger man was well-spoken, and witty. He could take care of himself, yet at the same time appeared so refreshingly vulnerable…even sad.

J.T. lounged near the door of the loge, unobserved, and remembered Charlie's shyness as he came out of the pool house that first night. His startled flush of embarrassment when Sangria had floated by him, bare tits to the wind. His engaging, open smile. Morrison had fallen for Dr. Eppes as quickly and as completely as he had ever fallen for anyone, and soon Charlie was on the permanent guest list. J.T. was trying to reel him in carefully, but there had already been moments he could barely contain himself.

After Ramon had poured Charlie into a bed, for instance. J.T. had stood over him for at least five minutes, had even closed his eyes as if the soft snores were an aria sung just for him. In the end, he had not been able to resist. He had touched the unconscious man's soft curls; let his fingertips trail along the stubbled jawline.

J.T. Morrison was a wealthy and powerful man. What he desired, he acquired.

And he desired Dr. Charles Edward Eppes.

……………………………

There were several sets of field glasses available for use in the loge, and Don stood next to Charlie at the far left edge of the picture window, looking through a pair. "They're changing it up," he announced, lowering the glasses. "Kuroda's coming out."

Charlie checked the Jumbotron and saw Billingsley jogging for the pitcher's mound. "But Kuroda's winning," he started.

Don snorted. "Just barely. Seriously, it's the seventh inning stretch and the Dodgers are already in the lead by eight. Let Kuroda rest his arm and give someone else some experience – that's what I'm thinking." Don offered Charlie the glasses; when his brother shook his head he laid them on the window ledge where anyone else could claim them. He brought his right hand up to rub at the back of his neck, which he twisted around towards the loge entrance. "Nice of Morrison to take Dad by the VIP lounge," he said noncommittally. "Hope they're back before the game starts up again."

This time Charlie huffed a laugh. "Yeah, it would be a shame to miss even a second of a game this close."

Don smiled and twisted his head back around. "It's a great game, Charlie. I've really enjoyed…"

Charlie suddenly interrupted him, pointing excitedly toward the window. "Don! The Jumbotron! That's Dane Rastenbaum!"

Don followed his brother's finger. "The guy Amita's been working with, since Larry left?"

Charlie nodded vigorously. "Right." He crowded the window a little, as if to see better. "He's looking at somebody next to him," he crowed. "Dane's got a girlfriend!"

Don smiled indulgently. "Now, Charlie," he teased mildly. "It could be a guy."

Charlie seemed to consider that for a moment. "I think I see long, dark hair," he stated, "although that doesn't really help anymore."

Don snickered. "You should talk, O 'Remove-All-Barbers-From-My-Sight'!"

Charlie smiled and the camera began to pan out from Dane, revealing the faces of those sitting near him. By now, the man on his left was pointing excitedly into the camera, having discovered that they were on the Jumbotron. The woman on Dane's left – and it was definitely a woman – had her head buried in his sleeve, supposedly too embarrassed to look. "Hope this isn't a first date," Don remarked. "His girl doesn't seem all that happy."

Charlie took a step back from the window, bumping into Don and almost tripping over their feet. Don put out a hand to push Charlie away when the woman lifted her head from Dane's arm. She was laughing, clearly having the time of her life. She seemed to laugh even harder when Dr. Rastenbaum raised their clasped hands toward the camera in a sort of victory wave. "Oh, my God," Charlie whispered, so quietly that Don nearly didn't hear him.

When the words finally reached his ears, he still wasn't sure if Charlie had said them – or if he had. His mouth gaped open and his hand rested lightly on Charlie's back, and he stared stupidly at the Jumbotron screen. Just before the camera swung to a different section of the bleachers, Don watched Dane Rastenbaum lean down slightly, and kiss Amita Ramanujan on the cheek.

End, Chapter 10