A/N 2024: I never thought I'd ever be able to come back to this story. Like many writers I got to the point where I wasn't sure where I was going with it. And with life being what it is, for the longest time I didn't have the inspiration or drive to work on it. Then one Christmas I got the complete DVD set of Diagnosis Murder, which I had been watching a lot since. When someone close to me who I had been taking care of died last year, those DVDs stirred the creative juices and focusing on writing helped me get through 2023. I will be getting back to my other stories, but I already had a lot written for them whereas I genuinely hadn't touched this one for years. Now, I not only have this one going again, but have sequels and crossovers already percolating in my brain. I hope you enjoy reading. It was a fun labor of love. And thank you to anyone who had been patiently waiting for updates all this time, even if it's likely you forgot about this story.-Cha
Despite being measured in precise increments used and recognized the world over, it always amazes Aurie how unpredictably out-of-whack time can seem depending on the circumstances. Attempting to patiently wait in the stylishly decorated waiting room of the famous Davis, Stein & Hartman Design Studio, the young teen is torn between wanting to get on with this meeting and hoping it doesn't happen at all.
Thankfully the receptionist has been ignoring her, but Aurie figures that's only because she isn't touching stuff she's not supposed to and not making an excessive amount of noise. She does find it hard with the 'no touching' part as some of the things dotting the room are incredibly beautiful. However, it all serves as a nice distraction as she waits even though she hasn't been there long. Maybe twenty minutes. She knows she's lucky that not only did the receptionist check if Spencer Davis was willing to see her without an appointment but that the man would bother to see her at all.
In the meantime, Aurie has to wait regardless of how long it could take. It also means dealing with the reminder of how annoying a ticking clock can be. Especially if it's a frilly French grandfather within a cavernous room.
Taking a deep breath, she forces herself away from the innocent clock before she inflicts some form of violence on it to casually wander back to one of the comfortable sofas. Settling onto it she mentally goes over the homework she'd done on Spencer Davis before visiting his five-story converted warehouse located near the L.A. fashion district.
Despite being a man born into privilege, he wasn't content to live the playboy life and squander his inheritance. Making a name for himself as a designer, he helped build Davis, Stein & Hartman Design Studio from the ground up into a Fortune 500 company.
Sighing heavily, she briefly raises her arms above her head and stretches out the kinks in her back. Silently she reminds herself not to get all worked up. Whatever happens will.
Glancing down she notices her blouse bunched up funny when she stretched. Grabbing the hem, she tugs it back into place with another soft sigh. Her anxiety at waiting feeds into her childish insecurities. Not only does she feel like a little kid caught doing wrong and waiting to meet her doom in the principal's office, but she also feels incredibly underdressed surrounded by all the luxury.
She probably should've anticipated she needed to do better than a dressy white tailored blouse with her worn jeans and beat-up sneakers. It's like throwing a cheap rug over an embarrassing stain on the carpet. It just attracts more attention to what's still underneath.
Finally, salvation comes in the form of a jarring buzz from the receptionist's phone breaking the stillness of the room. Moments later the woman replaces the handset to address her.
"Mr. Davis will see you now, Miss Acevedes."
Rising to her feet, Aurie smiles at the receptionist while shifting her backpack onto her shoulder.
"Thank you."
Following the other woman's gesture, she walks across the room to the antique, ornately carved French doors. Taking a deep breath, she grasps the handle and enters.
Aurie gapes at the 'office' as she slowly crosses the room. Not only is it large enough to be converted into a small apartment, but it's too lavishly decorated to be a mere office.
"Mr. Davis?" she tentatively calls into the empty room as she approaches the art deco desk.
A voice drifts through a closed door off to the left side of the room.
"Please, have a seat. I'll be just a moment."
Settling into one of the luxurious leather chairs facing the desk, she eases her backpack onto the floor between her legs. Moments later the side door opens as Spencer Davis enters the room and saunters over to his desk. He's a handsome man who's on the tall side. The flecks of gray in his curly dark brown hair belies his still youthful face.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he apologizes while easing into his seat. "I was on the phone with a client and it took longer than expected. You'd think that someone who can afford my services would realize I know what I'm doing."
Aurie frowns in confusion.
"Isn't that the point? I mean, if they had any design sense, wouldn't they save the money and do it themselves?"
"Exactly," Spencer grins, amusement lighting up his hazel eyes. "However, some people like the bragging rights of having me do their design work."
"That's some expensive bragging rights," Aurie arches a brow.
"Welcome to California," he laughs, earning a smile from Aurie. Reaching across his desk, he reaches out to shake her hand. "Nice to meet you, Auralia. I'm glad you have a better sense of humor than your mother."
Surprise lights up her face as she releases his hand.
"You remember her?"
"Kinda hard not to," he smirks. "Plus, with your last name and you looking a bit like her, it wasn't a stretch to guess you must be her daughter." Aurie nods. "How can I help you?"
"Well, okay," she replies awkwardly. "This is going to sound crazy and out of some bad movie, but, well…she said you were my father."
The silence stretches out as Aurie waits for some sort of explosive denial, like on TV, but Spencer merely sits back in his chair studying her.
"Amalia is still saying that after all these years?" he finally asks.
"Yeah," she nods, not sure what else to say. "But knowing my mom, it's probably not true, but I have to check because I need to find out who my biological father is."
"Well, I'm not surprised and I honestly wasn't sure I wanted to meet with you," he admits with a shrug. "I wasn't sure how much you took after your mother's behavior, but my curiosity was piqued. Why search for your father now?"
Aurie blows out a breath.
"Had to. Like Mom, I'm not a citizen. But I like it here and want to stay. The immigration officer who's been helping me said it'd be a lot easier getting my green card if I can prove my biological father is a U.S. citizen."
"This might disappoint you, but that's not me," he smiles gently. "You see, I remember your mother as a very beautiful, charming woman who happened to be very clueless about certain things. She was blatant in chasing me to permanently live the good life. It was amusing how hard she tried to seduce me. And she was good at securing invitations to whatever parties she found out I was going to and was just as good at crashing them if she couldn't get one."
Straightening up in his chair, he continues.
"One day she shows up here at the office saying she's pregnant and demanding I do something about it. I know I was being a massive dick, but I couldn't help laughing at her, which incensed your mother."
"Started cussing you out in Spanish and threw a massive tantrum, right?" Aurie smirks.
"For over ten minutes straight," Spencer nods in amusement. "It was a ridiculous situation and, as I mentioned, your mother was clueless. She kept insisting I slept with her. I've never been much of a drinker," he admits. "So, I know I didn't have any drunken one-night stands after any of the parties around that time." He pauses briefly as a thought occurs to him, "You're what, about fifteen?"
Aurie nods.
"Yep, that's how it was around fourteen or so years ago. Well, I like attending parties, but I'm not a party animal. Never been into drugs or alcohol. But your mother kept insisting I drank too much before slipping up in frustration to admit she drugged my champagne." Arching a brow he adds, "I hate champagne, tastes like crap. However, that didn't deter your mother from claiming she was pregnant with my child. I had to be brutally honest with her and admit certain things she had no business knowing."
Leaning forward, he holds Aurie's gaze to emphasize the importance of his next words.
"First off, I'm gay. Everyone knows that, though. And even if I were drunk, your mother had nothing I was interested in. And even on the extremely remote chance she succeeded, I'm sterile, which is the part she had no business knowing but I felt I needed to admit to her. That threw her for a loop. So, to humor her, I suggested we take a paternity test once the baby was born, but she wasn't having it and stormed out of my office. That was the last I saw her."
Spencer lets the silence stretch out as the teen sitting across from him digests his story. Aurie wants to believe he was merely covering his ass but figures he can afford to legally do that instead of wasting the time and effort on lying. Then there's her mother's track record. Instinctively she knows he's not her father.
Meeting his gaze, she finally speaks.
"Thank you," she states sincerely, causing him to arch a brow in surprise. "I appreciate you not blowing me off despite knowing who my mom is and I'm sorry."
"About what?" Spencer asks in confusion.
"Because of the shit she tried pulling on you," she explains. "And that I'm bothering you about this again. I believe you. But I was wondering…if…" Aurie takes another deep breath to calm her nerves before continuing, "Do you have any idea who is, I mean, who might be my father?"
Spencer thinks about it.
"Hmm, there are three possible candidates now that I think about it."
"Three?"
"Yeah. I wasn't the only one your mother set her eyes on. I just happened to be the biggest catch. She was also particular about age and looks. She wasn't aiming for some rich old geezer."
Aurie can't resist chuckling.
"True. She might've had an easier time if she went older."
"Well, one of the men is older," he corrects himself. "But she preferred her men in a younger age bracket. Even if the old fart was taking Viagra, it'd be hard to guarantee a pregnancy if he fires off blanks in bed."
"One is older?" she arches an incredulous brow.
"Late 60's, early 70's. Do you want me to get you a notepad? Because you might want to take notes for this."
"I've got one. Give me a sec," Aurie replies, reaching down to dig into her backpack. "Ready."
"After me, the next man she chased was Lawrence Taylor. Up next was Steve Sloan then his father Mark Sloan."
"His dad too?" she asks in disbelief.
Spencer nods.
"The older one," he points out. "Nice, charming guy, which may explain why he was on her radar. It's all pretty dishy stuff."
"No kidding," Aurie muses. "Sucks it has to be my life because it'd make a hell of a telenovela."
"Pretty much anything that involved your mother was soap opera fodder, she was all drama," he chuckles. "She was manipulative and ruthless." He pauses as another thought occurs to him. "Y'know, she would've done great in the corporate world if she had put her mind to it."
"Yeah, she would've," Aurie mumbles before speaking louder. "Can you tell me how to find these guys?"
Spencer leans back in his chair while considering her question.
"We pretty much move in different circles, but occasionally I bump into one of them. I know Taylor still lives in Hollywood. Owns and operates Night Sweat Pictures."
"Night Sweat Pictures?" Auralia incredulously asks. "Sounds like porno."
"It is. Runs it out of Van Nuys."
"Seriously?" At his nod, she rolls her eyes. "Dishy. Um, how about the other two?"
"Well, the elder Sloan is a doctor at Community General Hospital. Head of Internal Medicine, I think. Every time I see him, he hits me up for a donation to the hospital. As for his son, Steve, he's a cop with the LAPD. I think he's a detective now and lives with his father in Malibu."
"He lives with his father?" she arches a brow in disbelief.
"Almost certain of it," Spencer nods.
"A boomerang," she muses while scribbling down some notes.
"Boomerang?"
"Yeah, you know, someone who leaves then returns home to live with mommy and daddy. Like a boomerang."
Spencer busts out laughing.
"Never heard that one before!" Amusement still colors his voice as he adds, "I know they're close. If you find one, you'll find the other." He watches her write before observing, "You know they're all likely to flat-out deny even the possibility of being your father."
"Probably," Aurie pauses in writing to look at him. "But she was intent on snaring a rich baby daddy. It's not likely she'd have just slept with a waiter at any of those parties. She may not have succeeded in getting pregnant by a man with money, but it wouldn't have been a man who wasn't a party guest."
"Nor would it have been under any other circumstance since she admitted she was drugging the champagne to get what she wanted."
Nodding in understanding Aurie finishes writing and puts her notebook away.
"So, I just have to do my best to ask all three of these guys to take a paternity test," she reasons. "It doesn't sound you've anything against them to name them and you could've pulled any random name out of the air, even if it was some geezer with money."
"I assure you that I'm basing it on how your mother was behaving and what I remember. And if your one blue eye is any indication, there's the fact they all have blue eyes like you do unless that's a recessive trait on your mother's side. Since you've got one blue eye and the other is brown, is that heterochromia?"
"Yeah," Aurie nods. "I didn't know there was a name for my mismatched eyes until recently," she admits with a shrug. "But my blue eye isn't recessive that I know of."
"Well, it's very pretty," Spencer grins. Aurie smiles shyly as he continues. "Anyway, you favor her looks, except for the one eye and hair color."
"Neither is my hair color recessive. My hair was nearly blonde when I was a baby and hers is naturally jet black. Mine never got anywhere as dark as hers." Smiling in gratitude she adds, "Thank you for helping me out with this," she sincerely states. "With my mom's reputation and everything it's a hot mess. Now I've got a real chance to find the truth."
"You're welcome," Spencer replies with a warm smile. "And I sincerely hope you succeed. And I also hope I'm not offending you by saying you seem nothing like your mother. Other than information you've asked for nothing. You could've tried laying down a scam."
"It doesn't. I honestly take that as a compliment."
Rising to his feet prompts her to do the same as he guides her to the door. Reaching into a pocket he pulls out a card and hands it to her.
"Here's my card. Can you let me know what happens? I'm very curious if any of them is your father."
"Sure thing," she agrees, taking the card before exiting the office and crossing the waiting room to the elevators.
"Good luck," Spencer calls from the doorway.
She smiles and waves before entering the elevator.
Auralia Acevedes- Pronounced Ore-all-lee-ah Ah-seh-veh-dehs
Aurie- Pronounced like 'Orry'
Amalia- Pronounced Ah-mall-lee-ah
Heterochromia iridium-variation of eye coloring. Usually naturally occurring and can be genetic.