Woman Goin’ Crazy on Carolyn Street
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Christ, look at this place.
I mean I know Jimmy didn’t pick it -- wouldn’t have picked it in a million years. For one thing there’s a dance floor and Jim Ellison doesn’t dance. Not in public. Not in private. Never. I had to learn that the hard way. You’d think that all the lithe grace he shows while horizontal would translate. You’d be wrong. Or, who knows, you might be right. But there’s no damn way you’ll figure it out. ‘Cause Jimmy doesn’t dance.
I used to dance.
I used to not come to these things. I mean, God, that first year when Jimmy forgot our wedding anniversary and then remembered *this* -- his stupid celebration of the day-Ellison-became-a-cop. It was over then; I just hadn’t realized it yet. No, that took one too many double shifts, one too few conversations, one too many times when he turned that stone cold gaze on me.
Nobody can stare like Jimmy.
And this is typical - his party and the man’s not even here. Simon’s here, the rest of Major Crime, the half of Vice that doesn’t hold a grudge. Hell, there’s even a sprinkling from forensics and a couple of uniforms.
You’d think Jimmy actually had some friends.
God, that’s cold, even for me.
Simon’s waving me over. He’s wondering where the man of the hour is. He thinks I know. I didn’t know where he was when it was my job to know where he was. Well, I knew where his body was – where he was keeping his heart remains a mystery. I’m still thinking a locker at the bus station in one of those boxes with a combination lock. He keeps it well-dusted. I’m sure about that. The box, that is.
I think I need a drink. I’m pretty damn sure it needs to be a double.
Ah, look what’s coming in the front door. The man we’re all waiting for. Nope, definitely not his pick, look at that frown. And we can guess who did pick it -- that idiot student that’s been following him around. Kind of amusing when you see it from the outside. The kid’s grinning and looking pleased with himself and I can pretty much stand here and do the Ellison countdown. One second, frown. Five seconds, add the glare. Ten seconds, here comes the patented Ellison cutting comment. By fifteen, the kid will be completely deflated.
I need to move that uniform out of the way. He’s blocking my view.
Yep, there’s the frown. Three, two, one – we have glare. I can see the lips moving from here, Jimmy. The kid’s hands go up. I give him ten before the door’s hitting him in the ass. Pity, too, it’s a nice ass.
Damn, Officer GQ is still in the way.
I admit it. I want to see somebody else smash into the great wall of Ellison. I want to see that cute little smile wiped off that cute little face. Jimmy’s so disgusted it looks like he’s in actual pain. Now the little guy is starting to get worried. Hell, kid, I caught on faster than that. Oops, I wouldn’t advise doing that – better put that hand back before Jimmy snaps it off.
Great, Cutie-pie here just has to do some little cha-cha into my space.
"You’re causing me to miss the best part." I look down at the nametag. "Officer Rafe."
Pretty-boy frowns. "Brian."
Uh, yeah, no thanks. I have some serious ass-kicking to watch ‘cause when that hand reaches Jimmy’s shoulder ...
… when that hand reaches Jimmy’s shoulder, Jimmy leans into it. It’s just a moment. A lingering caress exchanged along with some quiet words before the hand migrates to Jimmy’s back and stays there.
Condensation, I’ll say later. You know, you’re trying to hold on to the fucking glass and it’s slippery, what can you do? Condensation. Not like it was a big scene. Only two people noticed the thump and the spilling of ice. I wasn’t either of them.
Jim’s eyes meet me over the crowd. God dammit, James Ellison. But the hand isn’t displaced.
"You okay?"
Officer Chippendale’s, right.
"Condensation."
He nods, his hand tapping a beat on the bar.
"You dance?" I won’t look back over in the direction of the door. "You know, I used to be something of a dancer."
He dances.
~oOo~
Jimmy’s waiting for me outside the ladies room, leaned up against the wall, looking content. God damn him.
"You know what they say, these days, if you fuck a uniform, you might as well quit."
I raise an eyebrow at him.
"I’m serious Caro. You don’t want to risk your career over this."
"Whereas if you fuck the observer …"
Don’t look so surprised, Jimmy. What, you forgot I always knew which buttons bore the big, red warning sticker?
"I’m not fucking anybody."
"Could have fooled me. And you’d better be fooling Simon."
Jimmy’s eyes are … Christ, they’re almost wistful. "Simon knows everything there is to know and that’s a lot less than you apparently believe."
Uh huh, you didn’t even know it was over did you? You wondered where the hell the divorce papers came from.
"Officer Rafe is waiting for me."
"Caro …"
"You want it wrapped up with a bow, Jimmy? Is that what you want? Well, let me tell you a couple things I don’t know if either of us realized before tonight – one is that Carolyn Plummer, who steadfastly refused to sleep her way up the ladder, is not at all averse to sleeping her way down. Do you really need me to spell out what James Ellison has learned?"
His eyes dart toward a certain nice ass on the dance floor.
"I didn’t think so."
I turn back toward the bar and find Rafe really is waiting for me.
He’s still wearing his blues. He’s got his damn cover in his hand.
What the hell. I’m fucking a uniform.
And tomorrow, I’m going to look for a new job.
~end~
(with apologies to Mr. Goodman and Mr. Buffett for pilfering the title)