FTR: I am not making any political statements in this chapter. The character of Rachel is meant to be a bubble-headed media personality, like many we see on reality TV today.
Four days later, on his only night off, Esposito found himself at Cypress, a trendy new spot where the men wore suits and no one asked about menu prices. Castle was true to his word, and had arranged a date with Rachel Shepard, channel six's cute-n-bubbly weather girl. Across the table was a nearly asleep Beckett; Castle had disappeared to the men's room, leaving Esposito to fidget with his tie and scan the menu for something that wouldn't break his food budget like hurled crystal.
'I feel like a fool.'
'Don't. I'm sure she'll be lovely.' Beckett yawned, crossed her legs again as she sipped her icy chardonnay. She loathed court days; they drained her of energy. All the waiting around when she could be at her desk working on other cases, plus she had to put more effort than conditioner and a blow-dryer into doing her hair and make sure she had some fancy lady suit all ready to go. Thank god Castle had given her closet space and a drawer for her things at his apartment; her mornings would be much more stressed and leave little time for other things. The thought made her bite her lip, then shake her head. Now was not the time for x-rated day-dreams about her shadow boyfriend, not when she was both at work and Esposito seemed to be having some kind of crisis. 'What time is she supposed to be getting here?'
'At eight. Should I have gotten her flowers or something?'
Despite his cool exterior, Beckett knew his heart was just as mushy, if not moreso, than Ryan's. But like herself, he'd been burned so keeping people at a distance was something they had in common. It was twisted but it also made their friendship work off the job. 'I think that'd be a little desperate looking. Second date, it's romantic, but a first date, especially a blind friend fix-up it's just needy.'
'Okay.' Esposito looked up from the menu - who the hell needed to pay forty dollars for chicken anyways? - felt his chest tighten when he saw Castle accompanying a petite brunette to the table. She wore a gaudy neon pinky silk mini-dress and the dozen or so silver bangles on her wrist jangled like wind chimes as she shook his hand.
'Rachel Shepard. It's nice to meet you Javier.'
'You as well.' Because his mother had raised a gentleman, he stood to pull her chair out. 'Would you like a glass of wine?'
'Oh no thanks. No alcohol for me. Have to be bright and fresh in the morning.'
Esposito nodded politely. 'You're the channel six weather girl.'
'Not as easy as people think. I mean, you have to know where to point. I could never be a cop. Those horrible vests? I mean hello, it's not the seventies anymore.'
'Yeah, we really should be more concerned with fashion then not taking a slug to the chest.'
Rachel gave him a polite nod, then looked at the menu, snorted. 'God, is this whole thing in French? I mean, what the hell is poo-let ow camp-angie?'
Before anyone could answer her, Rachel's cellphone rang. She smiled apologetically, dashing off to take the call. Back at the table, Esposito slammed his menu shut, gave Castle a death glare.
'I could be watching the Blackhawks home-opener tonight at Cecil's eating chilli fries and drinking ice cold Coke. Instead I'm out with a woman who has the intelligence of a carrot and I'm about to buy her dinner with three-quarters of my weekly grocery money. And the irony is that she probably will throw it up anyways.'
'I'm sorry,' Castle hissed, realizing too late what a mistake he'd made in picking Rachel. The girl was nice, but she had the IQ of a sock-puppet; a guy who TiVo'd Shark Week and solve murders for a living wouldn't be satisfied with a woman who made Paris Hilton look like Isaac Newton. 'You want an escape hatch, I could get you to take Beckett home, tell Rachel you two were called in?'
'No. I asked you to find me a date, I'll stick around.' Resigned, Esposito took a large gulp of his drink, watched as Rachel click-clacked on four-inch heels back to the table.
'Sorry, my agent. He's trying to get me into this sitcom audition, but I have to speak German at the audition. I'm sorry but once again, this is America, we speak English here.'
Esposito couldn't resist. 'I speak two languages, and I was born in Manhattan.'
'Yeah but you're Mexican. All of you speak Mexican and English.'
'I'm Puerto Rican, actually.'
'Sorry, then all of you speak Portuguese.'
Esposito stared at the woman; had he not been so insulted he'd have pissed himself laughing. Instead he polished off his drink, took his coat of the back of his chair and tossed a twenty onto the table. 'Castle, Beckett, see you at work. Rachel, it was something else. I'm outta here.'
R&R&Enjoy.
