Newly settled in LA, a younger lieutenant and his wife deal with growing pains. Mid '60s.
"C'mon hon', we're gonna be late," Columbo called towards the stairs, waiting for his wife to finish primping. He checked his watch and peered at the hallway mirror, running a comb through his slicked hair one last time. It had taken him just over half an hour to polish up; she'd taken the afternoon. Why women always insisted on taking so long to preen, he could never figure. But that wasn't much like Rose-come to think of it, his wife seldom took this much time to get ready. He began to wonder what exactly was keeping her.
"I'm comin'!" Rose hollered back. She appeared at the top of the staircase as if on cue. "Ya like? I hadda pick up a few extra shifts down at the library to afford it. Now, I know what you're thinkin', it's not normally my thing, but I figure, y'know, step outta my comfort zone a little."
Columbo glanced up to see his wife descending the stairs dressed to the nines, donned in a most striking single-shouldered gown. So that's what took her so long. She'd mentioned the team at the university needing a bit of overtime this past month, but he hadn't expected a flashy red dress out of it. She sauntered up to him and adjusted his black bowtie.
"You're, you're missin' a whole arm there. I hope they gave you a discount," he chuckled, gesturing towards her bare shoulder.
"So you don't like it?" she asked coyly.
"No, no, just the opposite," he said, hand in the air. Truthfully, he found something about her new look breathtaking, almost overwhelmingly so. She was no stranger to the world of cosmetics, but not even on their wedding day had she dolled up so. He was simply not used to seeing such a thoroughly gilded Rose. "I, I do like it. Very much, in fact. I just, ah…I don't think I've ever seen you look quite like this before. What, we move here and you turn into a movie star on me?"
"You gush," Rose replied dryly, basking in his awe as she brushed past him to retrieve her purse. She adjusted his sateen lapel-really, her brother's. George had agreed to watch the kids and lend her husband his tux in return for use of Rose's car; his, incidentally, needed fixing. "Say, you don't look so bad yourself. This tux looks about better on you than it does on George."
"Now who's gushing?" he said, eyebrow quirked. Rose grinned.
It was their very first policeman's ball since moving to Los Angeles, and her husband's first ever as a newly-promoted lieutenant. Rose was, of course, a bookish woman of typically modest dress. But she could clean up rather nicely, and thus she had no intention of embarrassing him that evening. If he needed arm candy to help impress his new cohort, then arm candy she'd be.
And arm candy she was, indeed. Her glasses were stowed in her bag, visual acuity taking a back seat to allurement for the night. She'd even shelled out for a hair and makeup appointment, and it showed-eyes heavily lined, lips claret, tight, dark curls tamed and swept into a fashionable, voluminous updo. New perfume. Vibrant, blood orange fabric hugging her full figure, popping against her tanned skin and finishing in an effortless drape over a single shoulder. She'd even broken out her accursed high heels for the occasion, for once taller than he.
"You know, now I can't even put you in that jalopy without feelin' bad," he said, casting his gaze downwards and wrapping the gown's matching red shawl around her shoulders. He opened the door for her, locking it behind him and running through his mental checklist-kids at George's place, stove off, all doors and windows locked. "It's like stickin' a Michaelangelo in a McDonald's. Just ain't right."
"Oh, so I deserve this thing every other night of the week," she said with a snicker, making her way to said thing. It was just her luck that George had asked to borrow her car. Columbo scampered ahead of her and opened the passenger door.
"Ladies first."
"My, my, chivalry? You know, you mustn't go to such lengths for little old me," Rose said in an affected manner, clearly savoring her coquettish act. Her husband's expressions of love were more in the camp of subtle, attentive gestures than grand, romantic overtures. But despite his lack of refinement, he was no stranger to proper gallantry from time to time, and there was always something about his brand of it that tickled her.
"Nonsense, I won't hear of it," he said, carefully shutting the door and looping around to his side. "I lucked into gettin' myself a beauty queen for the evening, I gotta treat 'er right."
"Wise move, Lieutenant."
The night was calm, air California balmy. The pathetic Peugeot pulled up to the portico of the venue, sputtering to a stop. Columbo exited and opened the door for his wife, leaving the keys inside for the young valet approaching with his ticket.
"Do you think that guy and his wife will be there, what's his name? O'Reilly?" Rose asked, holding onto her husband's hand and carefully stepping out of the vehicle. Of course, unkempt cobblestone pavement on the night she chose to wear heels. Just her luck.
"O'Ryan? Yeah, probably. Why?" he answered, closing the door for her.
"Remember when we ran into them at the mall? I don't think I've met a bigger pair of dimwits in my life," she grumbled, taking his arm in hers as they entered the vestibule.
"Well, you know, there is your cousin Martha and her husband."
"Don't get me started."
"I mean, listen, this isn't exactly gonna be a forum for high brow discussion tonight. Hell, when some'a those guys and their wives get a few drinks in 'em I can just about feel my IQ plummeting. So bear with me," he said, turning to look at her. "Gee, wait'll the boys see who I'm walkin' in with."
"Oh, stop." Rose felt a grin spreading despite herself.
"Ah, Lieutenant. Glad you made it."
Columbo instantly recognized the authoritative enunciation coming from the coat check. A tall, well-dressed gentleman of stately countenance joined the two, eyeing Rose as he shook Columbo's hand.
"Good evenin', Commander."
"Good eve to you, as well. And just who is this angel on your arm tonight?"
"That would be my lovely wife, Rose. Rose, Commander Porter, one of my superiors."
"Hello there, how d'ya do?" she said, extending her gloved hand for a shake rather than offering it demurely. With raised brows, he shook it firmly.
"So this is the famous wife, eh? That's a lovely accent and might I add a fine handshake you've got there." She nodded in thanks. "I've got to say, your husband here is one of our top men, truly exceptional. Really, I can't understate it. And he's always talking about you, so I can only imagine you are equally so. You work on the archivals team at the UCLA library, I hear?"
"You got it."
"You know, ma'am, that line of work fascinates me," he said, walking back towards the coat check. She followed. "The preservation, taxonomy of culturally significant media. Truly a noble thing."
"If only they paid me like it!" she quipped, the two laughing as they launched into conversation. Columbo stood for a moment, then hurried behind them at a brisk clip.
Lieutenant Columbo was not a jealous man. At least, so he thought.
And Rose Columbo was not a kittenish woman. At least...so he thought.
He stared at his reflection, washing his hands in the venue's ridiculously opulent men's room. Cocktails, dinner, and dessert had come and gone, but the party showed no sign of stopping. Rose, normally so reserved, had chatted to quite a few attendees. Most emphatically and notably amongst them was his own commander, who had spent much of the evening animatedly discussing with her all manners of things-most of which of rapturous interest to them and only them. Despite their attempts to include him, Columbo sat rather idly nearby, for once feeling more like part of the décor than an active conversational participant.
He frowned. Shutting the tap, he flicked his hands and retrieved a paper towel. Thinking about it, it hadn't really bothered him that much, had it? Surely he wasn't as insecure as all that. Rose had plenty of male friends, male colleagues. He never once felt threatened by any of them. She never once gave him reason. Thus, he'd at first discounted the pit that had begun to form in his stomach.
Then, more and more, the dance floor had begun to populate. Rose was quite a little dancer in her own right, starkly contrasted with his own two left feet. Normally something of a klutz, on the dance floor her fluidity alone often left him spellbound.
Tonight had been no exception.
Despite his typical reluctance towards public displays of rhythm at any given event, he always humored those lively arm tugs. And despite her generally fastidious and critical nature, Rose was a fun and patient dance partner, taking the lead, never so much as scolding him for stumbling or treading upon her toes-which, admittedly, he often did. Still, invariably, he found dancing with her a blast.
Tonight had been no exception.
Then there was, of course, Commander Porter, who had in no uncertain terms asked to cut in. And, wanting to be a gentleman of decorum (as well as one employed), Columbo obliged. By God's infinitely yielding grace, Porter, too, was a seasoned dancer, and the way he and Rose moved together was objectively remarkable.
To the onlookers, of course. To the lieutenant, it only clarified that the evening's stomach trouble was not indigestion from stuffing hors d'oeuvres into his mouth. It was the dancing. The incessant schmoozing. The blatant monopoly on her attention. The hand on her arm, however brief. That damned glint in his eyes. Columbo raked a hand through his hair, breaking into a cold sweat.
Tonight had been an exception.
Increasingly, he felt the need for some fresh air-preferably on the rocks.
The venue's courtyard garden was well-manicured and, to Columbo's relief, sported a halfway-hidden bench. He'd fetched his trusty overcoat from the coat check and made himself fairly comfortable, whiskey in one hand and cigar in the other. He loosened his bowtie.
Alone, he heard the music and merriment of the party, faint and in competition with chirping crickets. He felt his gut now roiling in sheer…something. It began to dawn on him that this was perhaps even more than mere jealousy or discontent.
"There you are, all stowed away by yourself! I've been lookin' all over for you, what're ya doin' all the way out here?"
"Hm?" Columbo glanced behind him, startled to suddenly hear Rose. The turbulence in his gut abated somewhat upon hearing her voice. "Oh, I was just gettin' a bit warm in there. Needed some air." Her brow furrowed.
"You think some of that deductive skill hasn't rubbed off on me? Lemme tell you, I may not have your gift, Frank, but it doesn't take a genius to tell somethin's really buggin' you," she said, crossing her arms as she took a seat next to him. She wrinkled her nose; her husband's typical bouquet of tobacco and aftershave had been joined by a healthy splash of high-proof liquor. "You smell like a poker night, for God's sake. How many of those have ya had?" She nodded towards his nearly-empty scotch glass. He pouted and stared into it.
"Oh, I dunno. A couple." She gave him a knowing look. Judging by his flushed expression and loosened bearing, it was not only more than a couple, she'd have to drive them home tonight. He closed his eyes and leaned back. "Maybe five. Who's keepin' score?"
Five was indeed a rare number for Columbo. A man who usually only imbibed for pleasure and not sorrow-drowning, he had very little tolerance for the stuff. He was loath to admit it, but even Rose could drink him under the table.
The issue laid not with the feeling. He was even largely the same person inebriated as he was sober, though less filtered and perhaps more easily amused. It was the dullness, the slowing of the mind and blunting of the senses, that made drinking feel foolish. Drinking had never solved anything his acumen couldn't.
But tonight, his stomach had tied itself into increasingly agonizing knots, the reasons for which were finally becoming clear to him. For once, he felt out of his depth, powerless, in an odd dilemma which he felt no amount of his needling analysis nor subterfuge could overcome. For once, he ached for that dullness. And so beckoned the bottle.
"That much? What's wrong?" Rose prodded, working to keep her demeanor calm. He was beginning to worry her.
"Ah, don't worry about it, it's nothin'," Columbo mumbled, raising his hand languidly. A pregnant pause. "Well, fine. If you insist."
"Go on," she said, placing a hand on his knee.
"Listen, Rose, I, uh…boy," he uttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Opening up about such matters was never his strong suit. "I ain't neva' felt scared of losin' you. I mean, not 'cause nobody would want ya, but I always felt secure. With Porter over there, you guys were talkin' and talkin'. And after a few chats, a few drinks, a dance…he was lookin' at ya. I mean really lookin' at ya. And if anyone knows that look, it's me." Rose shook her head.
"You're kidding," she said with a dry laugh. "I didn't think you were that type. He looked at me? Talked to me, danced with me? What, I need notarized approval for that?"
"Yeah, I…I know it sounds stupid. Believe me," he said, choosing his words with effort. "But when I say lookin', I mean…look, I, I know men. Sometimes they look at women in a real…unsavory way. And you know that's not me, Rosie, the jealous type, but I just…for the first time tonight I really felt, uh…I felt…" He trailed off into silence, grasping for more words.
"You felt..?" she murmured, leaning in close and looking him in the eye. He faltered, his gaze reflexively flicking downward. Moonlit, her face was especially radiant-in his state, almost intimidating to behold.
"I mean, just look at you. Believe me, you're stunning every night, but tonight you're somethin' else entirely," he said quietly. "And tonight you're practically the life a' the party. Since when're you the life a' the party, I usually gotta drag you around just to say hello to people."
"Since some people here seem interested in actual conversation," she said, sighing. "That's rare for me, y'know. And for your information, I can tell who just wants me to bend over and pick up a dime. I'm not that dense."
"I know. It's not about that."
"So what gives, then? Is it Porter? We talked, so what? That man can have any woman he wants." Columbo jabbed his index finger in the air.
"Exactly."
"Yeah, any stick-thin, bleach-blonde eighteen-year-old in Beverly Hills with a derrière you could bounce a quarter off of. Does that sound like me?"
"No. Well," he said, tucking his chin and putting a hand on his cheek. "Maybe the derrière part." She snorted.
"Anyway," he continued. "Point is, a lotta times, to a lotta guys, none'a that matters. That, you oughta know by now. Girls like that are just candy to a guy like him. Women like you are more filling, like, uh, like lasagna or somethin'. Like, uh…uh…"
"We graspin' for a bookend to this drunken metaphor?" she said wryly. He gave her a thin smile.
"You know what I'm sayin'."
She nodded, fixing her gaze on nothing in particular and ruminating on his words. Perhaps the commander had indeed paid her an abundance of attention tonight. It was not out of the realm of possibility that she had let herself get carried away by the exhilarating current of such novel attention. But that this rush had blinded her to more potentially ulterior motives, she doubted.
"Even if he does find me interesting in the way a man finds a woman interesting," she said, looking upwards. "I'm tellin' you, he's harmless. The man spent half an hour askin' me about how to best index a case file archive."
"Of course he did," he replied, sitting up straight. "You're an educated lady, you always got educated stuff to say. Just usually these guys are too dumb to know what the hell you're on about. But Porter's not, and God, the man was-is smitten with ya. I can just about smell it on 'im."
"Tell ya what I can smell on you," she deadpanned. He gave a small laugh, then a big hiccup.
"Well, I'm done anyways, no more of this stuff for me. Here, take," he said, offering her his empty glass. She took it, shaking her head.
"Smitten. Come, now."
"Hey. 'Least the man's got excellent taste," Columbo replied, taking a long drag of his cigar.
"No, really! You can't be serious. I'll concede that maybe he was a bit involved, I guess, but there's really no way he actually wants me. Now you're just bein' paranoid."
"Paranoid? A bit involved? You gonna argue with me of all people about this?" he asked, thumbing his chest, brows raised. Most of those close to him, including Rose, deferred to him on such matters of character judgement, as his was second to none. To question that judgement when the verdict was so obvious only vexed him. Rose scoffed.
"I just think you're wrong about him."
"Wrong about him? I can read the guy like a book."
"Yeah? Go 'head, then," she said. He gave her a look.
"Fine. He's tall, blonde. Attractive, smart, talented, all in the usual way, nothin' peculiar. Rich, widely respected. Knows what he wants, has the means and drive to get it." He sighed. "Did I say tall? Most importantly, a bachelor? A bachelor who not only has eyes for my wife, he was clearly gunnin' for her right under my nose. And what the hell am I supposed to do about it, the man could fire me on the spot. I mean, that is a really nervy thing to do."
"Oh, he was not gunnin' for me!" she cried, now incredulous.
"Chrissakes. You know, you're really somethin'?" he groused, an exasperated hand atop his head. His dear wife was not uncommonly naïve in matters interpersonal, but this was too much to bear. Without realizing, his guts began to spill. "Sometimes you see stuff I could never dream of seein' and sometimes I gotta scream it out for ya from the rooftops. Don't you understand? A guy like that goin' after a girl like you…d'ya have any idea how scary that is for a guy like me?"
"...A guy like you?" she exclaimed. He winced; she lowered her voice. "A guy like you. What's wrong with a guy like you? You think I woulda' married you if I didn't want a guy like you?"
"Look, when you run that mouth a' yours the way you do, guys like him stop in their tracks. Look at me. I did, now I couldn't move even if I wanted to. But when…when…" He wavered, his addled mind betraying him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. Swallowing, he could've sworn he tasted bile.
"When it's someone like him, I mean…I'll be honest with you. It scares the livin' hell outta me, Rose, it does. I got tremendously lucky findin' someone like you. It was a fluke that I even managed to get your attention in the first place. Hell, I almost didn't. So when I see you havin' the time of your life with someone like him, I just don't know what to do but wonder what you're doin' with me. Me, what am I, y'know? You…you obviously deserve better," he said, looking away. "You do. One'a these days I'm scared to death you're gonna finally wake up and realize it."
Rose's mouth fell open in shock, her head swimming. Not once in her memory had he even hinted at any of this to her. He'd scarcely acted any less than a paragon of confidence.
Silence fell over them. Columbo heaved a sigh. Unmoored amidst his breathless, well-oiled monologue, it began to dawn on him exactly what he'd let slip.
"That's what's been eating at you?" she said sotto voce, breaking the lull. She gazed up at him warmly. "You're afraid I'm gonna up and leave you because you think I'm too good for you?"
"Well, now," he grumbled. "I, I mean, no need to get a big head about it." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, leaving behind a smudge of her lip color. His fingers rose automatically and brushed against it.
"Frank, no matter what, I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly. "I'm almost insulted that you'd so much as insinuate it at this point, because I thought I made it perfectly clear. You are more than good enough."
"C'mon, you don't gotta gimme all the boilerplate. Of course you say that now-"
"Are you kidding me?" she insisted. "Listen to me, if I was the kind of girl who cared about power, or stature, or money, do you think I would've married you? Let me tell you something, swear on my grandfather's grave. Commander Porter, in all of his tall, rich, suave studliness, could get down on one knee right now, jetset me off to Paris, hand me everything I ever wanted on a silver platter. Buy me a mansion in the Hills, brand new Mercedes. He could offer me a life I could only dream of and I still wouldn't give him a second look. Understand?" He met her gaze shyly, some of the glassiness in his eyes clearing.
"You mean that?"
"Well. Maybe if he threw in fixin' the upstairs faucet like a certain someone has been promising…" she trailed off, twirling a stray ringlet that had escaped her updo. He grinned. "You may be cockeyed, middle class on a good day, weird enough to go on exhibit at the MoMA-"
"Hey, you betta' be buildin' up to somethin' good."
"But," she said, running her hand through his hair and cupping his cheek. "You happen to be the loveliest, most special man I've ever met. And I've met a lot of 'em. I could sit here for hours regaling you with everything I love about you. You're one of a kind. Really, I'm surprised that brain of yours hasn't figured it out yet. See, if I'm so wonderful, don't I deserve the most wonderful man? How can I deserve better than the best?"
He looked downwards bashfully and shook his head a bit. Surely she was kidding herself.
"I mean it. Just about anyone can chase my tail when I look like this. Nobody else saw that gawky, aloof girl with the huge glasses, wanted her like you did, made her feel wanted like you did. Like you still do. Just for that, I…I wouldn't trade you for anyone in the world. And don't you ever forget it."
As those words ran through his head, one of his deepest fears at last felt somewhat allayed. He tried and failed to contain his smile as he embraced her tightly. A great weight had been lifted off his shoulders-and stomach. He slung his arm around her, taking another puff of his cigar.
"Feel better?" she asked.
"Yeah," he breathed contentedly. "Boy. Much better, actually."
"Good."
"Thank you."
They sat for a while in quiet contentment, enjoying the night and each other. The noise from the hall began to wane, prompting them to head back inside and say their farewells to the attendees-the commander included.
"Good seeing you, Columbo," Porter said, shaking his hand. "I didn't know you could dance like that. Truly a sight to behold. And Mrs. Columbo, such a pleasure getting to speak with you this evening. Certainly, an evening full of sights to behold."
"Oh no, sir, the pleasure was ours," Columbo replied, suppressing his grimace with a polite smile.
"Certainly. Thank you, Commander," Rose chimed in. "Hope to see you again soon." At this, the commander dug into his shirt pocket and offered her a business card.
"Here's my card, if you don't mind. Should something happen, say you can't get in touch with your husband, you just let me know and we'll make whatever you need a top priority."
"That's very gracious of you. Thanks again," she said, nodding politely. They said their goodnights and parted ways, heading outside to wait for their car.
"Flip that card over," Columbo muttered.
"What?"
"You heard me. Just flip it over."
She flipped the card over and stared at it, feeling the sear of her husband's glare. As usual, he'd been dead right all along. The commander had indeed scrawled what appeared to be his personal digits on the back of the card. Aghast, she quickly stuffed it into her handbag.
"Alright. Come on, get it over with," Rose said quietly.
"Hm? Oh, I wasn't gonna say nothin'."
"Yeah, right. No gloating, no 'I told you so'?"
"Oh no, no," Columbo said with a smug grin, waving his hand. "I don't like to rub it in, you know. I mean with how right I am all the time, I imagine it would get pretty tiresome."
"Spare me," she said, rolling her eyes. Seeing their unmistakable vehicle pulling up, she opened her bag and put on her glasses. "We'll discuss this later. The guy's here with our car."
"Already? Boy, these guys are quick. Hey, you're drivin', right? Where're my keys?" he said, patting his pockets. Rose jingled them; he gave her a look.
"Right here!" she chirped.
"What're you, a Venetian pickpocket?"
"I nabbed 'em when we were on that bench. Here y'go, sir," she said, handing the valet a tip and settling into the driver's seat. Columbo settled into the passenger seat just as the car stalled.
"Still wanna turn down that brand new Mercedes?" he asked. After several attempts, Rose managed to wrangle the capricious ignition to life once again.
"Damn right."