See Ch 1 for disclaimers…
DOUBLE POST TONIGHT – 3 & 4
Jane watched the weird kid in the needlepoint sweater edge his way on stage and a moment later the Grease reject was sticking his glasses in his pocket, pushing away from the wall with a sigh and giving her a wink as he walked out on stage.
Music cued up and Jane realized she was playing with her hands and slapped her own thighs in exasperation. She wandered around the backstage area. One of the stagehands frowned and shook his head at her when she edged close to the curtain rope. She peered out, but it was impossible to see the audience with the glare of the lights. Grease Man was giving it all he had and Jane didn't think he was half bad. Needlepoint Sweater looked like he was melting or having a minor seizure under the lights but he was playing.
Jane pitied the kid. She knew that look. She had lived that look. The kid caught sight of her and she gave him a smile and two thumbs up. He still looked sick but he smiled a bit back. Good, somebody should benefit from this disaster in her life.
Of course seeing Grease Man end his set made her realize she was one more act closer. Jane went to shove her hands in her pockets and hit the smooth material of her dress instead. Fuck.
There was no way she was going to be able to do this. Why in the hell had she taken that bet? They had already been down by two when Willy had started clucking again and Jane had spiked the ball at him. She'd been yelling something about his entire ancestry when Frankie had pulled her back. Then Frost had to go ask what was with the chicken noises.
Willy was laughing. "Chicken Little never told you about her illustrious singing career?" And just like that Ladder 19 and a fair bit of Boston's Finest heard word for word exactly what the spring of 1994 had been like for her.
Complete with sound effects.
Perhaps that might have obliterated the last of her good sense. Perhaps the game might have turned tad bit dirty. But it certainly had evened the score. Until Ladder 19 caught on. Those guys ran around carrying heavy equipment for a living. A rational person would have remembered that fact. Jane sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, she hadn't been exactly rational at the time.
No, instead of using a bit of common sense she'd shoulder checked Willy out of the way and yelled at Frankie to move his ass. They'd been running a pretty sweet layup when Willy grabbed the back of her shirt and she'd landed on her ass. He ran the ball and scored a 3 pointer and did the fucking chicken dance after.
Naturally Frankie picked that moment to remember he was her brother she obviously needed his protection. As if that had ever gone well for them growing up. He walked back up the court, shoving Willy hard as he stormed by and uttered those words that sealed her fate. "That the best you got carrot top? Like you could have done better?"
The stakes were set. Loser sang at Willy's cousin's jazz bar on open mike night. Jane narrowed her gaze and Willy met it evenly. Then the ball up, there was a shout and the game was back on.
Five minutes later Frankie was rolling on the ground holding his ankle and the rest of her boys from the BPD might be able to toss a ball around a court, but they weren't from Southie. They didn't grow up cutting their teeth on streetball.
Unlike most of the boys from Ladder 19.
To put it mildly they were screwed.
Even worse, the number of points they finally lost by was embarrassing. Covered in sweat she'd been flipping the cooler open when the offer been yelled out by the cheering Ladder 19 squad for double-or-nothing. An intelligent person would have conceded and walked away.
But not Jane Rizzoli. Oh no she'd told the assholes to bring it. Because no way in hell would she possibly be the one wearing a dress. Willy would look fabulous in taffeta.
Jane realized that while her stubborn streak was an asset to her job, it had at times, as Maura put it, a tendency to obfuscate a good decision from a poor one.
Oh and it certainly fucking obfuscated her all the way into being the next one on stage this time. In a damn dress.
In a last desperate act Jane grabbed the nearest stage crew member. "Listen carefully. Tell the lighting guy I want it at half power. I'm sweating so much I'm going to be able to skate my way on the damn stage and I do not want to make a clear image for YouTube." He looked ready to argue until she pulled her badge out of her cleavage. "I'm begging you. Make it happen and I promise the next traffic ticket is on me. "