Pages

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Highwire - Part 2

Claire didn't sleep very well that night. Jack had made her mind swim with a million different thoughts, and she vacillated back and forth between being angry with him (and herself, as well) and remembering the feel of his mouth on hers, the heat of his body as it pressed against her own, and the sound of his breath, so ragged with desire, when he was forced to end their embrace. She spent much of the night worrying about what they would say to each other the next day at work.

The next day was Friday. When Claire got into the office, she already had several messages on her desk, regarding various cases. There was one from a lawyer who's name she didn't recognise, a Richard Parker. She decided, out of her innate curiosity, that his would be the first call she returned.

She dialed the number, and was greeted by a nasal-voiced receptionist stating, "Legal Aid."

"Richard Parker, please."

"One moment, please."

"Parker," a rather gruff, young sounding man barked into the phone.

"Mr. Parker? This is Claire Kincaid. From the District Attorney's office."

"Hello, there, Ms. Kincaid," he greeted, sounding much less rough. "I'm Alex Gordon's attorney."

"What can I do for you today, Mr. Parker?" Claire asked, barely able to keep the distaste out of her voice. She had nothing personal against Parker: he had not sought Alex Gordon out as a client...but from time to time, she still had trouble separating defendant from defense counsel in the moral part of her brain. Parker would be doing his best to keep a man who was BOTH a twisted, brutal pervert and a murderer from being brought to justice.

"I was wondering when I can expect to receive blood and semen samples for my forensics experts to examine and conduct their own DNA tests," he told her. "Unless you're willing to save us all some time and drop the charges right now?"

"Mr. Parker," she began, "You're client viciously attacked and robbed 15 women, strangled one of them to death, and assaulted an NYPD officer. I am not about to drop the charges."

"Didn't think so, but a fella's got to try..." his voice trailed off. "Say, what about discussing a plea-bargain?"

His glib attitude disturbed her greatly. His tone was somewhat mocking, and she felt as though he thought the entire system was a joke. "Mr. Parker," she began.

"Rich," he offered, interrupting.

"Mr. Parker," Claire continued, "No one likes a head start on a case like I do. But don't you find it a bit premature to be discussing a plea-bargain before your client has even been arraigned?"

"Just wanted to let you know, Ms. Kincaid," he said, throwing the formality she had insisted upon back at her, "That this is going to be as easy or as hard as you make it."

"Excuse me?"

He didn't elaborate, and said simply, "See you at the arraignment," and hung up on her.

Claire frowned, setting the receiver back into the cradle. "That wasn't very pleasant", she thought to herself, and leaned back in her chair, swivelling around toward her computer, and was startled by the man leaning against the arch-way of her cubby-cum-office.

"Jack!" she gasped. "How long have you been standing there?"

He didn't answer her question. He looked down at his shoes, asking "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He raised his head slightly: he couldn't look her directly in the eye, but he wanted to see her reaction.

"Of course," she replied, motioning for him to have a seat in the metal chair next to her desk.

"Not here," he told her, shaking his head.

"Okay."

She stood up, and as she did so, he turned and started walking toward the elevator. She followed him, down the hall, pass the elevator, and into the stairwell. It was only eight-thirty in the morning, and the stairwell was empty. She walked by him, and leaned into the corner.

He didn't say anything for a while, and a little part of Claire was amused by that. "Imagine!" she thought, "Jack McCoy speechless!" But another part of her instantly felt guilty. She looked at him then, standing before her, hands shoved in his pockets, so that she could make out the lines of his chest through his dress-shirt. His brow furrowed as he searched for a way to tell her whatever it was he was about to tell her. She wanted at that moment to tell him what his kiss had done to her. That the thought of him had kept her awake until the wee hours of the morning, and that when, at last, she slept, her dreams had been of him. That indeed, for some time, her dreams had been of him. The notion that he might have lured her into a place free of prying eyes (for the moment, anyway) in order to ply her with more kisses crossed her mind, and her cheeks flushed.

"Look, Claire," he hesitated for a moment before continuing. "About last night. I'm sorry about the way I acted in Adam's office. You have every right to be angry with me. I was completely out of line. Far be it from me to stand in the way of the advancement you deserve." He looked as though he expected her to come at him in a fury, again.

She really didn't care anymore about what had happened in Adam's office. She wasn't one to hold a grudge, first of all, and secondly, she could tell he was struggling very hard to deal with the fact that she was going to be doing work that was independent from him. She wanted, now, to discuss what had happened between them in the elevator. He had awoken something in her, and she wondered how he thought they should proceed.

When she didn't attack him, he continued, "And about what happened after, in the elevator..."

"Yes?"

"It shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry. You were right all those months ago when you waltzed into my office and said we should keep this relationship professional."

Her heart was sinking, fast. "Oh, Jack," she began, but he stopped her.

"Whatever I might be feeling, the fact is, we make a good team in the court room, professionally. I think...we should leave it at that."

She felt...she didn't know what to feel, or to think. They were obviously incredibly attracted to each other, and had been for some time. Why then, was he pushing her away, when they had only just crossed the threshold from the realm of office co-workers into the realm of something more?...

He left her, then, standing alone in the stairwell. She felt as though one wrong word from anyone would cause her to burst into tears. In the hours since Jack had kissed her, she had resolved herself to the inevitability of a relationship between them, and now that she had done so, was deeply saddened by the fact that he had seemingly resigned himself to the opposite.

She realised then that she hadn't told him anything about how she felt or what she was thinking: he did have a disturbing tendency to walk away from her before she'd had her say. She wondered if telling him what he'd done to her would have made any difference.

*****


At Alex Gordon's arraignment, Claire got her first look at Richard Parker. He was tall, blonde, athletic, and incredibly easy on the eyes. He was dressed impeccably, and Claire wondered what they were paying Legal Aide attorneys these days. He was younger than she, perhaps only a year or two out of law school. He carried himself with the arrogance of one of those beautiful people who knows he's beautiful, and knows that other people know it, as well.

"Docket #64725398, People vs. Alexander Gordon. The charges are: 15 counts of rape in the first degree, 15 counts of kidnapping and armed robbery, one count of felony murder, and one count of assaulting a police officer," cried the clerk.

"Another model citizen, I see," remarked the judge. "How do you plead, Mr. Gordon."

"Not guilty," he stated arrogantly.

"Ms. Kincaid?" inquired the judge.

"The People ask for remand without bail, Your Honor."

"Your Honor," said Parker, "my client has an elderly mother to care for. Keeping him in custody will render him incapable of bringing in the income necessary to adequately support her."

"This is outrageous, Your Honor!" interjected Claire. "The accused is charged with multiple felonies: a brutal murder, 15 vicious rapes, robberies and kidnappings, not to mention the assault of a female officer. He has clearly demonstrated that he poses a real danger to the women of this community."

Claire glanced over at the defendant and his attorney. Gordon was glaring savagely at her. She saw in his eyes a clear, unmistakable, growing malice and contempt for her, and shuddered imperceptibly beneath his gaze.

"Your Honor, unless my client has been convicted while I wasn't looking..." began Parker.

The judge interrupted him, saying, "Save it, Mr. Parker. I'm inclined to agree with Ms. Kincaid. Bail is denied." He banged his gavel against the desk, and the hearing was over.

Gordon was led from the room, still glaring hatefully at Claire as the court officer led him from the room. Claire left the court room, shuddering at the absolute malice she had seen behind Gordon's eyes. She was stopped by a man's voice calling after her.

"Ms. Kincaid!"

She turned around just as Richard Parker loped up to her.

"Sooooo," he drawled, running his eyes over the length of her, smiling, "You're the infamous deep-voiced Claire Kincaid. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He offered her his hand, and she shook it.

"And you're Richard Parker."

"That's what my licence says. Sometimes I wonder..."

His manner was annoying her again. "What can I do for you, Mr. Parker?"

"Do you have a moment? Can I buy you lunch?"

"That wouldn't be wise. Anything you need to say to me is best said here. Or in my office."

His eyes darkened. He obviously did not deal well with rejection. "Fine. We need to discuss the blood and semen samples."

"I spoke to forensics earlier," she told him. "The problem is that none of the samples is large enough to support two independent sets of tests. My forensics team, however, would be perfectly willing to conduct joint tests with your forensics team, if you like."

He looked her in the eye, grinning at her smugly, and she noted something shifty in his manner as he said, "Tell ya what. I'll think about it."
*****

Claire treated herself to lunch, her mind thinking back to the hate she had seen in Alex Gordon's eyes. She recalled the look Richard Parker had given her at the end of their conversation, and was once again overcome by the notion that there had been something shifty in that look. It was the look of somebody trying to get away with something out in the wide open. She had seen that look on many a defendant and many a lawyer. She told herself to be wary of Mr. Parker and his motives.

Finally, her mind settled on Jack, but she pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind, filing them in the "I'll-think-about-this-later" place in her mind, too confused at the moment by his contradicting actions to ponder them, or him, in depth.

When she had finished her food, she quickly paid her bill, and went in search of a pay-phone. She found one, and called into the office, to see if she had any pressing matters to attend to there. She didn't, and decided to interview several witnesses for some of the cases she was working on with Jack.
*****

When Claire returned to the office at 4:30 that afternoon, there was a note on her desk from Jack, asking that she come into his office as soon as she returned. He wanted to discuss the impending trail of a city councilman named Spencer Talbert, accused of larceny for extorting sex, three years ago, from an associate (Sarah Maslin, who was now a partner) at the law firm where he worked before being elected to the city council.

For the first time in several months, Claire actually knocked on the door of Jack McCoy's office, only entering he she heard him say, "Yeah?" from the other side.

"How'd the Gordon arraignment go?" he asked as she walked through the door, closing it behind herself. He was all business, and the smile he usually wore, even the faint one, was gone.

"Without a hitch. No bail."

"Good," he stated. "Now, on to the Talbert case. His attorney's request for a continuance was denied. We go to trial next Wednesday, as originally planned."

"That's no problem. We're ready."

"Yeah, but I'd like to re-prep all our witnesses," he told her. "Is that going to create a problem for you?"

"Not at all, Jack. Chet Williams, my second chair, is going to start going through all the statements of the Gordon victims on Monday, so I'll need to check in with him from time to time, but I don't foresee a problem. We don't go to trial on Gordon until January."

"Great. Sarah Maslin is going to be in here 20 minutes or so. I thought we'd start with her."
*****

The Maslin meeting lasted until 7:00. When it was over, the office was empty: except for Jack and Claire, everyone, Adam included, had left to pursue Friday evening activities.

When Sarah was gone, Jack and Claire headed out together, discussing the strengths and weaknesses of their case. They paused by her cubicle long enough for her to collect her things, and continued on toward the elevator.

Once inside the elevator, their discussion ceased. They stood there, these two very cerebral, very articulate people, unable to either look at, or speak to, one another. For both of them, the elevator walls seemed to vibrate with the remembrance of what had transpired between them the previous evening, and they were hard-pressed not to act on the desires within themselves. For Jack, the silence was an attempt at control: to keep himself from doing what he very much wanted to do, out of respect for her, and deference to the decision he had made. For Claire, the silence was an attempt to keep herself from telling him how she felt, knowing he'd resigned himself to maintaining a strictly professional relationship.

The elevator ride ended without another word to each other. They stepped into the parking garage, and Jack walked Claire to her car, in silence. She opened the door, and moved to get in. He placed his hand over hers on top of the door, as she stood, just about to get into the car.

"Have a good weekend, Claire," he said, smiling slightly.

"You too, Jack. See you Monday."

As she drove away, she wondered how in the hell she would manage to enjoy herself when she felt as miserable as she did.

As she drove away, Jack thought to himself, "Smooth, McCoy. You've really fucked things up, this time." He walked to his motorcycle, head hung low.
*****

On Monday morning, there had been no change in the status of their relationship, and for the next several days, they seemed to be on auto-pilot around each other. At times she felt as though they were two penned-up tigers, tip-toeing around each other in their cage. Gone was the rapport they had developed. Gone was the playfulness with which they usually spoke to each other. They were co-workers only. They didn't eat lunch together, as had been their custom. They hadn't gone out for a drink after work since the day before the elevator encounter.

But then, on Friday, the Maslin case went to the Jury, after Jack had given what to Claire had seemed a particularly brilliant summation.

Later that evening, in Jack's office, Jack, Claire and Adam sat, having a glass of scotch. Adam expressed the opinion that the jury would likely return with a verdict of not guilty. He seemed to think their pursuit of this case somehow ridiculous. He thought they were stretching the larceny statute to its absolute literal limit, and maybe even beyond.

Both Jack and Claire disagreed. Adam hadn't seen what a credible witness Sarah Maslin had made. He hadn't seen the way she'd pre-empted any further questions from Talbert's attorney with her statement about none of her stellar career being possible if she hadn't given in to Talbert's extortion.

After a while, Adam left for home. It was getting on to 8 o'clock, and both Jack and Claire were starving. Claire, a little emboldened by the warmth of the scotch in her stomach, got up, and walked around Jack's desk, to where he was leaning back in his chair. She sat on the edge of the desk, hands flat against the desk on either side of her. Jack sat up, somewhat awkwardly.

Claire leaned forward a little, looking him in the eye. They looked at each other for a moment, until Jack broke the gaze, glancing at his watch. As he did so, Claire asked, "Hungry?"

"Famished, actually."

"Well, then," she said, "How 'bout letting me buy you dinner?"

He looked at her, eyes wide in shock, eyebrows raised, "Dinner?"

She too, was similarly shocked, for two reasons. First, the question had come out of her mouth before, it seemed, it had even formed itself in her brain. Secondly, seeing Jack's reaction, something profound hit her: this whole time, beginning with the elevator, and leading up until this moment, Jack had been oblivious to the fact that she returned his affections. The reason he had been so genuinely contrite the next day in the stairwell, and so circumspect in the office in the days following, was that he thought that he had offended her in some way. Claire nearly laughed out loud.

"Yeah. I know this great little place down in the Village. We can have some food, maybe a drink or two," she smiled, "and listen to some good music. Do you like jazz?"

"I love jazz. And dinner sounds wonderful." She'd taken him by surprise, but now that he saw that she'd opened the door for him, he was ready, willing, and able to take advantage of the opportunity she'd presented.

"Great!" She smiled.

"Do you want to drive?"

"Normally, I would, yes, but my car's in for a tune-up," she told him. "we'll have to cab it."

"Nonsense. We'll take my motorcycle," he stated. "Unless you don't think you're up to it..."

"Is that a dare, McCoy?"

"Damn right."

"Well then, I guess it's a good thing I had planned on going to the gym this evening," she said, eyeing him with a slight air of mystery.

"Oh yeah? And why is that?"

"I brought a pair of jeans and a shirt to change into after my workout," she grinned.

"And lucky for you, I just happen to have a spare helmet."
*****

Claire found the ride down to the Village exhilarating. She had been on a motorcycle only once before, many years ago, with a boy who had later died in an accident while riding it. Since then, she had been afraid to get on one. But somehow, Jack's very presence eased her mind, and she found herself enjoying their journey immensely. She luxuriated in the feel of him as she pressed herself to his back, arms wrapped tightly around him.

He smiled into his helmet at the idea of her behind him. The heat from where their bodies touched was having a definite effect on him. He smiled again, realising what an ass he'd made of himself in the past few days. It was obvious to him now that she had feelings for him, and he dismissed himself as an idiot for having failed to notice.

When they arrived at their destination, Jack pulled into a parking space, and killed the engine. Claire slid off the bike, removing her helmet, as Jack enabled the kick-stand, leaning the bike on it. He removed his own helmet, took the spare from Claire, and attached them to the motorcycle.

He dismounted, saying, "C'mon, lets go in."

They walked in, and there was a jazz sextet consisting of a bassist, a drummer, a pianist, a trombone, a trumpet, and a baritone sax, was funking it up on the stage. Jack put his hand in the middle of Claire's back as a waitress led them to a booth. They sat down on opposite sides of the table, facing each other.

"Can I get you something to drink before you order?" asked the waitress.

"Jack?" Claire asked.

"Your choice," he told her.

"Two pints of Guiness," she told the waitress.

"Coming up." She left them to study their menus, which they did, in silence, each a little nervous now that they were ACTUALLY here, together.

When she returned with their drinks, they ordered their food: she, soup in a bread bowl, and he, a burger and fries.

Jack took a deep breath, and plunged them into the conversation they should have had several days ago.

"I'm glad you asked me out tonight, Claire."

"I'm glad you came, Jack," she replied. "I was worried you might turn me down, after what you said the other day..."

"God!" he snorted. "I was such an ass. I was so worried about offending you, especially after our first conversation. That night, after the elevator, I was so worried you'd request re-assignment. I was beside myself."

"Oh, Jack," she empathised, gulping down the rest of her drink to give her the courage to say what she wanted to say. "I wanted so much to tell you, but I was so angry about what happened in Adam's office, and then, in the elevator, I was so confused..."

"And I was so busy worrying about appearances that I didn't even notice that you felt the same..." he said, rather sadly.

"How could you?" she queried. "I didn't even realise it until you kissed me. And then, in the stairwell, the next day, I was going to tell you...but you were so insistent about the working-relationship..."

"I know. I was blind and I was stupid. I kick myself several times a day just thinking about it."

"Well," she said, as their food arrived, "we're here now."

"We sure are."

That part of the conversation had seemed like such a catharsis for both of them, that their meal passed in light, easy conversation. They talked about many things. About their families, their educations, places they'd travelled to, art, film...the entire spectrum. Sometimes, they didn't speak at all, absorbed in the music, and in each other.

They had another drink. And then another, and the conversation flowed freely. Claire began to wonder what time it was, and was shocked to discover it was after midnight when she looked at her watch.

Jack did the same. "Sheesh, is that the time? We'd better go."

When the bill came, Jack reached for it, but she snatched it away from him. "Uh-uh," she told him, winking, "My treat." He grudgingly allowed her to pay, and they walked outside, to his motorcycle.

"Are you all right to drive?" she asked.

"I'm not drunk at all," he told her, pulling her close, "Unless you count being intoxicated by you."

He kissed her then, and she had nearly the same reaction she'd had in the elevator. His kisses seemed to have the amazing ability to render her incapable of rational thought. She responded in kind, wrapping one arm around him, stroking his hair, and placing the other hand on his cheek. His hands were on her waist, and he began to rub her sides as she opened her mouth to him. They stood like that, locked in an embrace for several moments, lost in each other, until finally, they had to come up for air.

"Mmmmm," she sighed, closing her eyes, and bringing her fingers to her kiss-bruised lips, "that was lovely."

"Mmm hmm," he agreed, planting a kiss on the top of her head, pausing to breathe in the scent of her hair. "C'mon, I'll take you home. And I promise: no hot-rodding."

She laughed at him as he got on the bike, and started it up. He put on his helmet, handed her the spare, and she climbed on behind him.

They enjoyed a leisurely ride to her condo in the East Village. He killed the engine in front of her condo building. She got off the bike, and they both removed their helmets. He adjusted himself so that he was no longer straddling the bike, but leaning against it. She stood on the curb in front of him. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her off the curb, and close to him.

She put her hands on his face and gazed into his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her mid-section.

"Would you like to come up for coffee?" she asked.

"You sure?"

"I said 'coffee', McCoy," she said, laughing down at him, "get your mind out of the gutter."

He laughed, too, and followed her into the building. The elevator was out of order, so they took the stairs up to herplace on the 4th floor.

She opened the door, and he was frankly surprised by the size of her apartment. "Hey, I don't want to sound nosy, but how do you afford a place like this, on your salary? Rent control?"

She laughed, steering him to the couch. "No. It belonged to my grandmother. She left it to me when she died." She pushed him down onto the couch, saying, "Wait here, I'll go fix the coffee."

He could hear her in the kitchen, filling the coffee maker with water. She was only gone for a short time, and when she returned, he could hear the coffee beginning to perk. She kicked off her shoes, and walked over to her sofa. Jack was sitting to the right of the center of the couch, facing the mantle. She came and seated herself next to him, with her back to the arm of the sofa, drapping her long legs over his lap.

"I'm back," she informed him.

"So I noticed," he replied softly, leaning in to kiss her again.

His kiss was less demanding this time, but in no way less passionate. He was taking his time, savouring the feel of her in his arms. He pulled back a little, and began to kiss her face. He kissed her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. He kissed her chin, and then under her chin, until he was running his lips along the long column of her neck. He nuzzled her neck for some time, pausing now and again to nibble on an earlobe, until she took his face between her hands and brought his lips again to hers.

They kissed ardently for a many long minutes, and soon, Jack was running his hands up the front of her shirt, stroking her sides, and finally, rubbing his palms against her breasts. This sent a thrilll through Claire, and a moan escaped from deep in the back of her throat. He smiled as he continued to kiss her, and she pulled him closer to her then, running the tip of her tongue across his lips.

They were both fairly panting with desire when they had to pull away from each other in order to breathe. They smiled slyly at one another, and Claire, against her will, yawned.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Yes," she told him honestly. "A lot's happened this week, and I haven't really been sleeping very well since...well, since that night, in the elevator."

"Maybe I'd better go?"

"But you haven't even had your coffee yet."

"Tell you what. I'll go fix us both a cup, and we'll take it from there," he kissed her again, before finally getting up, and walking through the door he had seen her enter, into the kitchen.

Claire sank deep into the couch, smiling.

It took him a while to locate things in the strange kitchen, but he poured them both a cup of coffee, fixing his the way he liked it, fixing hers the way he'd seen her fix it for herself.

When he returned to the living room, he found Claire sound asleep on the couch. He knealt down next to her, shook her a little, and called her name. She didn't respond, only continued to sleep. He sat down and drank the coffee he'd made himself. When he was finished, he got up and walked down the hall, looking for her bedroom. There were three, but he could tell which one she used. It had a huge window with a window seat, an over-stuffed chair, a queen size bed, and several framed paintings and photographs on the wall. He went to her bed, pulling the deep-burgundy comforter back, along with the blankets and sheets.

He returned to the living room, knealt by the couch, and picked her up, cradling her to him as he carried her to her bed. He laid her on it, and feeling somewhat lecherous, removed her jeans. He pulled the coverings up around her. He planted a kiss on her lips, and stroking her hair lovingly, said "Good night, Claire."

"'Night," she replied, rolling onto her side.

He turned out the light, and left her room, shutting the door a little.

He cleaned up the mess from the coffee, and finding a piece of paper and a pen, wrote her a little note, leaving it on the table next to her bed. He made sure the door was locked from the inside, and left, heading for home.

In the morning, when Claire woke up, she smiled at the remembrance of the previous evening, and seeing the note on her night stand, picked it up.

"Sweet dreams," it read, "Call me when you get up. -J-"

Claire rolled over, smiling, and reached for the phone.
 

No comments:

Post a Comment