As always I own nothing, make no money from this and bow before the genius that is Chuck Lorre, Bill Prady and all of the writers, actors and crew that bring the TBBT to life. Thank you.
Sometimes it is not what you can do, but what you have to do.
It started out small. Bernadette and Amy spending a little more time around Raj. Including him in outings even though they new he would be unable to talk to them. Asking him for his opinion on places to eat, fashion, anything as long as it would keep his attention. I found out from Sheldon that Amy was calling my Mother regularly and that Amy, Cheryl, and Bernadette had even done a couple of girls night out with Raj in tow. I was concerned because Raj had a tendency to "fall in love" with any woman who paid him the least bit of attention (one time he was sure the lady at the lunch counter was his soulmate and all she did was give him some extra tater tots). So of course it happened. Bernadette told me that Cheryl had flurted with Raj (because that is what Cheryl does) and on this particular night she had also gotten very drunk and so she was also very "handsy". Raj was the designated driver so was only drinking diet coke when Cheryl sat down on his lap and announced that she was going to take him home and ride him like a bike. As all drunks are apt to do after drinking too much, she wandered off looking for the ladies room, Bernadette in tow. Amy said later that Raj was smiling from ear to ear. Then he saw Bernadette running toward them yelling for Raj to help her. Raj of course headed for the restrooms while Bernadette was going to get the bouncer. According to what Amy saw Raj had come upon a huge man pushing Cheryl up against the wall, his hand was in her shirt tearing at her bra, and the other hand was under her skirt. Cheryl was crying and hitting him uselessly on the back trying to get loose. Then it happened, in front of women, and stone cold sober, he yelled "unhand her you bastard", and kicked the Neanderthal in the back of his knee. Already out of balance while restraining Cheryl his leg collapsed and he went down on one knee. He turned trying to get up when Raj kicked him again in the same knee, and down the thug went screaming and holding his knee. Cheryl straightened herself stepped closer to the fallen thug (I refuse to use the term Man to describe that kind of slime) and yelled at him that she was not a whore and no one touched her without her permission. The bouncer arrived just in time to see Cheryl drive her stiletto heel into the groin of her attacker. Obviously he screamed. The 2nd bouncer arrived grinning because he knew Cheryl and knew how she would have reacted. They escorted the crying thug out the side exit after taking his photograph to circulate among the other clubs. Cheryl was not going to press charges so the bouncer "Eddie" offered to get her a cab home and send an escort if she wished. Cheryl instead latched onto Raj and wouldn't let go. He slid his coat over her shoulders to hide her torn blouse. The four of them left in the cab dropping Cheryl off first. Amy and Bernadette both offered to stay with her but she just grabbed Raj's hand and asked him to spend the night with her. Raj helped her out of the cab and let Bernadette and Amy know that he would get his car tomorrow, and then made them promise to call him as soon as they were home. Neither of them pointed out to him that he was talking to them. That could wait. After that night Raj was never troubled by selective mutism again. Cheryl and Raj only stayed together for a few months, but every time she saw him after that she giggled and called him her hero.
Frankenstein's Sisters
I had high hopes for 2004. My leg brace was removed (still needed that cane but at least I could drive again). My vision was better than it ever was (except for the light sensitivity). My work was progressing nicely. Howard, Raj, Sheldon, Amy and Bernadette were doing fine. Now if I could only find a woman to love and keep my name out of the newspapers, it would be a great year.
I did not make it thru January.
Amy and Bernadette started on me just before New Years. I was to be repaired and made a viable boyfriend, whether I wanted it or not. Howard agreed that they were definitely trying to fix me, and that my choices were to complain and whine, and then do what they wanted me to do, or just do what the wanted me to do (sorry at the time it sounded right but reading it makes the mind a little squidgy). He suggested the latter since it was quieter and was less likely to cause the ladies to drag him into a supporting role for the building of "Leonard 2.0". I acquiesced and the "find Leonard a mate-athon" began. The following weeks were filled with accidental meetings at the places I went the most often, the favorites being the morning Tai-Chi sessions and my frequent visits to the CheeseCake Factory for meals. I met associates of Amy's from the UCLA biology department, student friends of Bernadette's, and even Mrs. Gunderson's newly divorced daughter. Then the staff of the University, and some of the faculty, piled on. I must have met every single woman between the ages of 18 and 80 (ok not quite that high but it sounds better) within the city limits of Pasadena. I was even re-introduced to my realtor Sasha which surprised us both. While our friends were gathered in a circular pattern (probably to prevent escape) Sasha and I and decided the best way to halt the madness was to let our friends believe they had succeeded and that we were dating.We went out on several occasions and found that we enjoyed each others company. Since we were not in love, we could spend time apart, when needed, without offending our "other half". I would accompany Sasha to her companies frequent parties and she would attend any of the University functions I was told I needed to attend. As always the rumor mill with the help of the same blogger as before, had me as going about town with a Russian Super Model. This of course brought up the old rumors of my nefarious goings on and brought me once again to the attention of the University. Here is what you need to understand, Sasha and I were not in love. It truly was a friends with benefits package. The height difference alone would have kept me from dating her under normal circumstances (you know the old line, when we were nose to nose, my toes were in it and when we were toes to toes, my nose was in it). Like all things public the idea of a short man with a tall woman sparked stories, one of which insinuated that Sasha was a paid escort. This infuriated me so I sued the paper that printed it, refusing their offer of an apology. Llike a retraction would remove that filth from existence. Sasha was infuriated and threatened to kick the writer in the nuts if she ever saw him (she actually used the Russian word for groin but I digress). Sasha's Uncle heard about this and he was livid. Sasha'a Uncle had many tattoos and supposedly was a high ranking member of the Russian mob. He wanted to burn the paper down, with the staff inside. One evening after dropping Sasha off I was approached by two "friends" of her Uncle's and invited to meet with him. NOW. Needless to say it was a harrowing experience which I survived. Her Uncle asked me questions and I answered all of them. He did not like the part where I admitted to being in a friends with benefits relationship with his niece but since Sasha had told him that she would never marry a non-Russian (which he wanted to hear) and that she was only using me so she could attend parties without having to worry about being hit on, I was not held responsible. It was agreed that I would end the relationship and never speak ill of Sasha to anyone. I had told him that to me Sasha was a great lady, who was out of my league, who had dated me for her convenience. I was dropped off at my car (politely) and I never saw Sasha or her Uncle ever again (in person). The next day detectives from the organized crime unit in LA, stopped by my office to invite me to a tour of their offices. I went.
Follow the Yellow Brick Road
The Detectives were quite pleasant. They knew I was not a criminal. They knew that I had not known Sasha even had an uncle. They knew all about Sasha's Uncle Piotr Volkov and were only trying to gather any extra information I had might have garnered. I listened to myself recite the events of the night before and they really were not as scary as I had thought they had been. I let them know that the man I met was call Buss and had no time had anyone said any other names I could recognize as such. Detective Kimble informed that Buss was probably just a title, it was russian for boss. I was positive I had never heard the name Piotr or Volkov during my visit. I could not identify where we had gone because the windows were heavily tinted, but I was pretty sure the meeting was in a Russian Tea room judging by the decor and some of the delicious smells. Both detectives nodded their heads so they must have known the place I was referring to. No one their had threatened me. Buss had mentioned burning the paper down but that might have just been in the heat of the moment. No, he had not forbidden me from seeing Sasha again, but I did get the impression it was very unlikely I would ever see her again. Did I see any weapons or were any brandished near me. No officer, I saw a lot of tattoos but no weapons. I reviewed a catalog of tattoos without recognizing any of them and when I described the one on the arm of one of my escorts. Kemble nodded and I believe the other officer said sped notz. (Howard told me later the word was probably spetnatz which was a unit in the Russian army similar to our Delta Force. Then I was scared again). I talked to the detectives for about an hour. They each gave me their card and asked me to call if I recalled anything else. In the lobby I was met by Detective Rostenkowski, who drove me home. Apparently Bernadette had called him in a panic when I was picked up. Bernadette felt guilty because it had been her idea to re-introduce Sasha. At first he was quiet but after we got into the car he explained to me that I had nothing to worry about. Piotr Volkov was a criminal but he was not an animal. He pulled over and looked at me intensely. If I was contacted by Piotr Volkov, or his friends, I was to tell them everything that occurred at the police station, including this conversation. What ever I did I was not to lie to either side. I thanked him and he dropped me off at my car. Next day I was at the President of the University's office re-hashing the whole story. The next day a rival newspaper released the events being very careful not to accuse anyone but also acknowledging that a computer virus had forced their competitor to temporarily close its doors. Coincidence I am sure. So here I was barely into 2004 and once again my picture and my life was once again in the paper and on a blog.
The new version went like this:
I was a Professor (still was not one), rode in a limousine with one of my students as driver (I was driving my own car and it still did not look anything like a limo), the helicopter I rode in had graduated from being black to being a blackhawk (which is heavily armed), I dated Super Models (Missy's and Sasha's pictures were displayed, neither of their faces were visible, thank goodness), I wore dark glasses everywhere I went to avoid eye contact (they were tinted because of residual light sensitivity), I supposedly had removed the finger prints from my left hand and it even suggested reasons why one would do that, next it said I was under review by the University for having inappropriate relations with my female students (i.e. the blonde driving my car and again I have no students, I do research only). The last is the one the University had a little problem with. it said I was under investigation by the LAPD for possible ties to the Russian mob. It was incredible, whoever this blogger was seemed determined to ruin me and there was little I could do about it. I was with the President and the legal department later that same day.
The next couple of days were miserable. Request for interviews, being ambushed by photographers, one reporter grabbing at my glasses demanding to know why I didn't ever remove them, another asking what had happened to Sasha. Another reporter had pointed out that if I was injured in a lab accident why were there no admission reports from any of the hospitals in the LA basin.
The legal office had found that very little of the accusations were true and none of them were actionable (translation they could not use it against me). My department head , Dr. Blake had refused to have anything to do with any disciplinary action against a colleague "who represented all that was good in academia" (I thought that was a little over the top when the memo hit the nerd vine later). He concluded that if they wished to proceed with their witch hunt, they better fire him as well. He also mentioned wondering what the new mascot would be after the lawsuit settled and Cal Tech was replaced by Hofstadter U.
I really liked that man. The next email to hit the nerd vine was from the President telling the legal department to quit wasting the university time and money combating yellow journalism. He ended his reply with a note to Dr. Blake that his money was on the Badger as the new mascot, because it would never back down. I guess he wasn't a stuffed shirt after all.