Title: High Society

Chapter 16: Missed Connections

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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J.T. had seemed pleased when Charlie called him to verify his acceptance of the invitation to the Saturday evening event. The producer had quickly been disappointed, however, when the professor informed him that he would not be attending the usual Friday night soiree at J.T.'s house. "I'm giving my fiancée a ride to the airport around 5," he explained, "and then I just want to come home and devote some time to my research. I've been neglecting it recently."

Morrison had been silent for a moment before finally assuring Charlie that he understood, and was looking forward to seeing him Saturday.

Amita had been nearly frantic trying to finish up on Don's case before she left town, and Charlie was looking forward to the trip to the airport, even if Dane Rastenbaum would be there. Besides one stolen lunch, Charlie and Amita had not spent any time together all week. Jogging across campus after his last class, he wondered wryly if the VIP lounge had a small back room where the two of them could go for a quickie. They could leave Dane to wait by himself at the gate.

Charlie was still smiling at the image when he burst through his office door, and found an empty room. This surprised him. The arrangement had been that Amita and Dane would be waiting for him. Charlie's last class dismissed at 4:45 in the afternoon; by the time he returned to his office, it would be time for them to head for LAX. He glanced quickly at his watch -- was he late? -- as he skidded to a halt in the open doorway. His watch told him that he was in fact a few minutes early, and Charlie dropped his book bag to the floor, kicking it to one side as he swiveled his head to look down the hall toward Amita's office. Maybe the two of them were in there.

"Dr. Eppes!" A voice behind him startled Charlie, and he whipped around so quickly he nearly stumbled over the dropped book bag.

"Millie," he breathed when he recognized the Division Chair. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!"

She smiled as she reached out a hand to steady him. "I've been calling your name for five minutes, Charlie! Please tell me you haven't inherited Dr. Fleinhardt's somewhat infamous absent-mindedness."

Charlie leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, lifting an eyebrow. "Sorry. I was expecting to find Amita and Rastenbaum here -- I'm giving them a ride to the airport."

Dr. Finch nodded. "That's why I'm here; Amita asked me to give you a message."

Charlie straightened, and alarm showed in his expression. "Is she all right?" He tried to look toward her office again. "Where is she?"

Millie clucked and shook her head. "You're such an alarmist, Charlie! Of course she's all right. She and Dane caught an earlier flight; they took the shuttle. She said she would e-mail you from the airport."

Charlie's face fell. "They're gone already?"

Millie smiled gently. "I'm afraid I have more potential bad news for you."

Charlie was aching to check his e-mail, but forced himself to ask. "What?"

Millie's smile became broader, and full of pride. "I worked out a deal with Georgetown this morning. Seems Larry mentioned Amita's visit, and the Division Chair of Physics called to negotiate extending her stay for two weeks. Georgetown would like Dr. Ramanujan to serve as a guest lecturer in several classes and for the Astronomical Society meeting; they'd also like Amita and Larry to present some seminars together. I only agreed under two conditions: Georgetown will return the favor this spring, when they send Dr. Fleinhardt here for two weeks; and the Department of Cognitive Sciences will devote an entire month to your cognitive emergence research next fall. They're quite excited about it -- Larry's been talking you up -- and looking forward to working with you!"

It was a lot of information to absorb. Amita was gone; Larry was coming back to CalSci, if only temporarily; Amita was gone; Georgetown was going to effectively underwrite his research; Amita was gone. Charlie settled on the most important segment of information. "Amita is gone?"

Millie rolled her eyes. "Good Lord, Charlie. Check your e-mail, already. When you're capable of rational thought again, come and see me in my office." Millie turned on her heel and left, and Charlie shot through the office door like a bullet, slamming it behind him.

He stopped long enough to grab his book bag and liberate his laptop. He had it open and booting before he even settled in the chair behind the desk. Quickly logging in to his e-mail account, Charlie scanned over at least two dozen addresses before he found what he was looking for and clicked, opening a message from Amita:

Dear Charlie,

I am so sorry things worked out this way. Dane had his travel agent put us on a 'waiting list' for a better flight (direct; no stopovers!). He just found out this morning that two seats had opened up, but we had to leave earlier than planned. Then Georgetown got hold of Millie, and she signed my life away for two weeks -- I didn't even have time to stop at home for more clothes. I hope I can borrow something from Megan...

Anyway, I apologize in advance if she asks you to cover any of my classes. She implied that she would handle many of them herself, and spread the others around, so I hope it won't be too much of a burden for you. At least she got Georgetown to promise us Larry for two weeks in the spring; and it's SO EXCITING that they are willing to throw the entire Dept. of Cognitive Sciences into your research next fall! I'm sure if I had any idea what I'm going to put together as a guest lecture -- plus maybe some clothes -- I'd be a lot less offended by the sudden change of plans :) !

Please take care of yourself while Alan and I are both out of town. Don't spend so much time with your new friends that you forget the old ones. I'll see you soon, lover.

Amita

P.S. Discovered on the way here that my cell is dead, so I'll have to recharge it tonight in Washington. Will call you tomorrow for sure.

A groan of disbelief escaped Charlie and he slumped back in his chair. Not only had he been denied a last moment with Amita -- her weekend trip had somehow exploded to two weeks. He wondered, in a slight sulk, how much of a magician Rastenbaum's travel agent really was -- or even if she really existed. Dr. Dane had probably cooked up the whole story in an attempt to get Amita off to himself as soon as possible; and damned if it hadn't worked, too.

He sighed and closed the laptop, trying to decide what he should take home with him to work on over the weekend. Eventually Charlie made up his mind to just take the book bag in its current condition, and stood to leave. His cell vibrated in his inside jacket pocket, and he remembered that he had turned off the sound before his last class. He dropped to the chair again and scrabbled frantically for the phone -- maybe Amita was calling from the plane! -- flipping it open quickly and practically shouting into the cell. "Hello! Amita?"

He recognized his father's chuckle right away. "I thought you had her, son. Shouldn't you two be on your way to the airport?"

"Long story," Charlie groused. "What's up with the Poison Cousins?"

"Sam and Ella send their best," Alan replied firmly. "We all had a lovely dinner last night. Your cousins, Aunt Irene, the Golddigger, and I -- at a very upscale wharf location. Buster's Beach House and Longboard Bar. You've heard of it, surely."

Charlie snickered into the phone. "I beg your pardon?"

Alan continued. "Sam has given up real estate -- you know how bad the market's been. He's a surfer, now."

Charlie closed his eyes and lifted his free hand to rub his aching forehead. "Dad. He's over 50."

Sarcasm dripped from Alan's response. "True. But that hasn't stopped him from getting a hair weave, opening up a board shop on the beach and hanging out with half-women."

Charlie was almost afraid to ask – but he did. "Half-women?"

"Yep," Alan confirmed. "You know. Half-naked. Half his age."

Charlie continued to massage his forehead and grinned. "Suddenly the concern for Irene's money takes on an entirely different hue."

Alan snorted. "Quite. On the other hand, I actually found Peter quite charming."

Charlie let his hand drop and stared at the silent laptop before him. "Peter."

"Absolutely," Alan shared. "Peter Piper. Irene's paramour." He hurried on before Charlie could comment. "And don't make fun of his name. The man is over 80 years old -- I'm sure he's heard them all by now."

Charlie paused; then decided it was too easy anyway. "So are they still getting married?"

"Yes," his father answered, "but they've decided to wait until after the New Year." His voice degenerated into a mumble. "I may have indicated that you boys would like to come."

Charlie reached up and pushed a fistful of hair behind his ear. "Dad...," he began warningly.

Alan hadn't gone into the call without a plan, however, and now he distracted Charlie. "There's another problem," he sighed. "I just used a site inspection of Stan's municipal project as an excuse to get down here -- but I spent several hours there today, and I just got off the phone with Stan. He wants me to stay down here and oversee things for a few weeks."

Charlie squinted as a pounding headache began to make itself known. "What the hell?" he began.

"Charlie!" admonished his father gently. "I'm concerned about some shortcuts the contractor seems to be taking, and I suspect that he is using substandard materials. We could also have some illegal labor being paid half-rate, off the books. I need to check some things out a little more thoroughly, and have some tests done."

Charlie's spine began to tingle and he sat up a little straighter. "Dad, be careful. Maybe you should come back and let Stan head down there and do his own dirty work."

"I'll be fine, son," Alan assured him. "This isn't the first time I've fought these battles, believe me. I just wanted to let you know what's going on; and I have a favor to ask of you."

Charlie's eyebrows rose. "Something I can design an algorithm for?"

Alan chuckled. "Not right now, Charlie. Unless you can think of one that will help you call your brother for me. And don't tell me to call him myself. You know how overprotective and unreasonable he can be, and I just don't want to have this conversation with him."

Charlie started tapping his fingers on top of the desk. "Thanks for that, Dad. I'm looking forward to listening to him rant at me for half-an-hour like this is somehow my fault."

Alan laughed again. "Just give him the basics, and I'll fill in all the sordid details the next time I phone him. Please, Charlie. For your old man."

Charlie huffed a noise of disgust. "Why do I let you play me like that?"

"I've wondered the same thing myself for years," Alan mused. "Only in reverse. Listen, I'm going to the assisted living facility to dine with Irene and Peter, and I'm late."

"It's not even 5 o' clock," Charlie pointed out.

Alan agreed. "I know. But it's Bridge night, and we have to make the first seating. It's imperative."

Charlie was still shaking his head and smiling when he disconnected from his father and entered '2', speed-dialing Don. He was taken completely by surprise when his brother answered in a curt, less-than-friendly voice. "What is it, Charlie? Unless you're calling to tell me you've reconsidered this hare-brained plan of yours, I'm not really interested in talking to you."

Charlie bristled. "Nice to hear your voice as well, Don."

He detected a sigh of frustration. "Charlie, we're kind-of busy here. We closed that case Amita was helping with."

"That's great!" Charlie enthused, but Don just talked over the top of him.

"Now we have hours of paperwork, and Wright wants it on his desk tonight. Besides, I really don't think I should talk to you right now. I'm still pretty angry, and Bradford said I should stop and give myself time to think when I feel this way."

Charlie almost growled out his own frustration. "But Don…"

His brother interrupted again. "Are you in the hospital? Need a ride home from the ER? Is Dad okay?"

"No, no and yes," Charlie responded succinctly, fast on his way to pissed off himself. "He wanted me to call you; he's going to be in San Diego longer than expected."

"Fine," Don answered. "You called. I'll get the details from Dad. Goodbye, Charlie."

The dead air on the cell stunned Charlie, and he took the phone away from his ear long enough to look at the display screen and see that the call was indeed over. It wasn't exactly news that Don was angry – but did his brother just hang up on him?

Charlie looked at the phone as if it had just buried a knife in his chest. Things were getting better and better. "Son of a bitch," he whispered, and heaved the phone across the room, where it splintered off the door frame in several pieces. Charlie repeated himself. "Son of a bitch."

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End, Chapter 16