The Worthwhile Charity Event
Author: Tulip
Rating: PG-13
Category: Vignette
Spoilers: Up through JAG TV.
Disclaimer: They ain't mine. I'm just borrowing them and not for profit.
Feedback: Sure
Archive: Tell me where
Notes: Okay, this is the next in the Make It Worth Your While series, so Harm-bashing ahead. I've been trying all day to read this over again, and it isn't going to happen, so please excuse any mistakes or overly repetitive uses of the same word. No, Webb and Mac are not together yet. There might be some foreshadowing in this one...I do have a plan. It's just taking a while to get there. And here's hoping that we all get some inspiration out of tonight's episode, because there seems to be a distinct writer's block goin' on! Oh, and Happy Election Day.
The two weeks between the Navy Ball and Clay's mystery charity event--I don't even know what the charity is--passes fairly quickly. Harm was in a really bad mood, and he wasn't speaking to me. I heard that Renee broke up with him, although that wasn't too surprising, given his behavior. On the other hand, Singer's the one who told me, so it could be bad intel. I called Clay on Monday to thank him again, and to warn him about Harm's mood so that he'd stay away from the office, if he had any reason at all to come here. There was no need for both of us to be made miserable. By Wednesday afternoon, the Admiral
was at his wit's end with the situation, and he called me into his office.
"Colonel, I know that Commander Rabb is behaving badly, and that his problems are of his own making, but with your permission, I'd like to send you out of town for a few days. It's not the most pleasant assignment, but I need to have a conversation with him, and, frankly, I think it might be better if you're not around."
"Sir, you know I'll go wherever you tell me to." I think I'm about to be given a shit assignment because of my partner.
"I'd like you to go to your old law school to recruit for Navy JAG." Oh. That's not going to be pleasant.
"Isn't Duke protesting our presence because of 'don't ask, don't tell?'"
"Yes. Just handle those questions as best you can. Frankly, in my mind it's as much for the peace of mind of gay personnel as it is for the straight personnel. It's just a real hot button for some people, and they can't handle being in the same room with a gay person, but if they don't know it...Anyway, I apologize, because I know this is a grunt assignment, but Rabb..."
"I know, sir, he is blaming me for problems that are really of his own making. I'm happy to go to North Carolina, but I'm getting a little sick of his, um..."
"Bullshit," the Admiral supplies.
"Yes, sir. When do I leave?"
"Later tonight. I booked you on a commercial flight, but you have time to go home and pack. You're booked on a flight back Friday evening, but if you want to stay through the weekend, I'll have Tiner change it."
"No, I'll come back."
"All right. Dismissed."
I walk out. I so do not want to go to Durham, but I get myself together and to the airport. Thankfully, Tiner had the good sense to book a flight out of National. It's so much closer, and the cab ride is quick and relatively cheap. I actually remember to get a receipt this time, so I can be reimbursed for it.
The next two days were really pretty long and uncomfortable and bad in a lot of ways. The interviewees had been chosen by goodness knows who, so I had to review resumes right before people walked in the door, and I felt really unprepared. People who were protesting the policy showed up for interviews, telling me they wanted to serve but were gay (never mind the pink hair, nose ring and visible tattoos, all of which are problematic), so I had to be harangued about how bad the policy was for hours on end. Other people wanted to talk to me about Juanita Ressler, who sort of touched off this whole entire thing, when they saw it was me in the interview. I know they were trying to find common ground, but they don't realize how bad that entire experience was for me, conviction aside of course. When all was said and done, there was a grand total three people seriously looking into JAG, and one of them was a Singer-in-the-waiting. From my point of view, it was a total waste of time,
for both the Navy and myself.
I called Clay at lunch on Friday to vent a little bit, and he said he'd get me at the airport and take me to dinner. I told him I'd meet him outside so he didn't have to park. His friendship has really been one of the best things that's happened to me, and I'm more relaxed when I go back into the interview room. As soon as I'm done, I drop by the career office to tell them I'm leaving, and the director wanted to chit-chat with me. I quickly excused myself, so I could get the airport. There is no way I'm missing this flight.
I got stuck in traffic, and I was, of course, at the last gate. I ended up almost spraining my ankle trying to get down to the gate in my heels, and I got right on the plane. I wanted to change clothes before hand, but I figure I'll change back in DC. I had shoved some casual clothes into my bag, but I didn't even put them on Thursday night, opting to change into my pajamas, order room service and watch a movie. I was so glad to get back to DC, and I quickly changed out of my uniform and headed outside as I checked my voice mail. Nothing was urgent, much to my relief, and Clay was pulling up as I walked outside.
"Hey Sarah. Was your afternoon better than your morning?" He asks as he takes my bag and puts it in the trunk.
"Not really, the really strident people waited until the last to come in. I hope your day, well, your whole week, was better than mine."
"It was uneventful, which is always a good thing." Boy, did he hit the nail on the head with that statement. "How do you feel about Chinese?"
"I feel good about Chinese. Listen, thanks for picking me up and taking me for dinner. I really appreciate it. It's been a really rough week."
"Hey, that's what friends do. You've listened to me moan enough."
"We don't really need to start keeping score on that. I think we'd both come out of looking kind of pathetic," I say, laughing a little.
We head to dinner and I'm feeling much better about halfway through the evening. I know the problem with Harm still needs to be solved, but, really, I have no control over that, so I need to let it go for now. Clay spends most of our meal letting me on a little gossip from his office. There's an affair going on, and his secretary was unwittingly caught in the middle
of it. The two culprits kept inviting her out to "events" where only they would show up, and it turns out they were using her as a sort of chaperon. Or at least a witness to the woman's husband that nothing was going on in front of her, which it wasn't, although she walked back from the bathroom to find them "swallowing each other's tongues" at whatever club they were at. Until the husband called her. It's really not that funny, because stuff like that really does create chaos, but the way he tells the story has me laughing. Apparently, his secretary has moments of naivete. "Everyone else know something was
going on," he says.
By the time we leave, I'm feeling so much better. As we're in the car, Clay says, "Oh, before I forget, I'll be in New York Thursday and Friday of next week, but Saturday is still on."
"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask, what kind of charity is it?"
"It's an anti-AIDS event. Not a black and white ball, but something. It's terrible, but I just go where my mother tells me when it comes to this stuff. I used to try to get out of it, but it's really not worth an argument."
"So, what are we going to tell people? If I'm posing as your girlfriend, should we come up with a back story?"
"Wow, you've thought this out far more than I have. Let's just say nothing and let people make assumptions. It worked okay the other night, and I'm sure the rumors won't be nearly as wild as the ones Rabb spread."
"Sounds good to me."
We arrive at my place, and he suddenly says, "Do you want to go riding this Sunday? Mother is out of town, but I usually go out there on Sundays."
"Sure. I haven't been in a long time, though, I'd probably hold you back."
"It's not like I race horses, Sarah."
"Okay. Should I meet you there or at your place?"
"Let's meet there at 10. I need to get there earlier and do some things. You want to pick up some lunch on the way?"
I get directions, and head inside. This should be fun. I used to love to ride. I had a friend in grade school that lived on a ranch, and her parents knew my parents and felt sorry for me. Unfortunately, my dad punched her dad when I was 11, and I felt too embarrassed to go out there again, even though she invited me once a week for the entire fall semester at school. I decide to spend Saturday cleaning and doing laundry and generally hanging out. I've cleaned, and I'm going through my closet and drawers weeding out clothes I never wear. At about 1430, though, there's a knock on my door. It turned out to be Harm. I was very reluctant to even open the door, and when I first did, I kept the chain on.
"Mac," he says in a semi-exasperated tone of voice.
"If you are going to give me attitude, you just turn yourself around right now," I say.
He immediately backs off, so I open the door, but I have no intention of letting him in. He makes small talk for a minute, until I cut him off. "Listen, say what you came to say. I'm kind of busy." I don't tell him I'm cleaning out my closet, but I can see his wheels turning. If he asks me if Clay is here, I'm going to shut the door in his face.
"I just wanted to talk about what happened at the Navy Ball."
"So talk."
"I think I overreacted." I say nothing, because I'll say something really mean if I open my mouth. There's silence for 2 minutes and 43 seconds. "I said some things I shouldn't have and jumped to conclusions." I nod my head as he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "But..."
"No buts, Harm. My life is my own. You were acting like a jealous boyfriend. You are not my boyfriend."
"I know," he says softly.
"And you aren't going to be my boyfriend," I say gently. I think maybe I need to put this on the line here.
"I'm not?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Harm. It wouldn't work." I'll just leave it at that.
"Why?" God, he doesn't give up.
"Well, there's Renee. Harm, you're one of my best friends, but that's how we need to stay." I make sure I say all this in a tone of voice that lets him know I'm not kidding.
"All right then. Do you want to go get a coffee or something?"
"I'm in the middle of some things. Besides, to be honest, I'm still a little upset at the way you treated me, and how you treated Clay, last Saturday. And how you treated me this week at work. I'll get over it, but it may take a little while. However, I will not let it affect our working relationship."
Harm looks kind of surprised. "Okay. Well, I just wanted to apologize. I guess I'll see you Monday?"
"Yes. I'll see you Monday. And you also owe Clay an apology, by the way." He nods, although I can see that it takes supreme effort, and turns around. I close the door firmly behind him and throw the chain. I wanted that little additional message to him that I'm serious.
As I finish my chores, I decide to actually make our picnic lunch for tomorrow. I know Clay is expecting me to show up with Subway or something, but I can actually cook some things pretty well. I make a mean chicken and rice salad, which is the order of the day. I drop the clothes off at a charity and make a trip to the grocery store. I cook the chicken and rice as
I make chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Of course, probably a third of the batter didn't actually make its way onto the cookie sheet.
By the time Saturday night rolls around, my apartment is spotless, I'm in good shape for tomorrow, and I'm exhausted. I order a pizza and a movie off my digital cable. I stumble into bed when the movie ends.
I'm up early the next day, and I finish lunch. The chicken salad doesn't take too long to put together, and I grab the rest of the things. I even remembered drinks. The drive down to where I'm going, which is near Fredericksburg, is very nice. It's actually really nice to be out of the city. I arrive a few minutes early, and, I admit, I'm just a bit intimidated at my surroundings. There are huge stables and riding rings. I wonder if Clay owns this or if he just boards his horses there. I get the impression he has a lot of money, but I don't know that he has this much. I wander into the stable, and I see him putting hay into one of the stalls. He's wearing a loose sweater, but his riding pants are fairly tight. His legs must be incredibly strong, judging from the muscles I see.
"Clay..." I say. He looks up, startled.
"Oh, hi, Sarah. I didn't hear you come in."
He quickly finishes what he's doing, and he gets two horses saddled up for us. I find out that he boards his horses here. We ride for almost four hours, and he takes along a river. It's really pretty. We finally turn back because of hunger, and he is duly impressed that I made the chicken salad and the cookies. I know that I make really good chocolate chip cookies, and he seemed to really like them. He ate like six.
"You must think I'm a pig," he finally says.
"No. The cookies that you see here? There should have been a lot more of them. But, you know, things happen."
"Yeah, chocolate chip cookie dough is irresistible. It used to drive my mother CRAZY when I would eat so much of it. It still does, actually. She's convinced that I'm going to get e-coli or something because of the raw eggs. Like that's the most dangerous thing I've ever done, eaten raw cookie dough." I start laughing, picturing the relative danger of eating dough and, say, wandering around a deserted boat with a gunshot wound while waiting for Clark Palmer to come to try to kill him.
"I gather you keep the details of most of your, um, activities, from your mother, then."
"Well, yeah. What she doesn't know...I told her a long time ago to not ask questions she didn't want to know the answer to. Of course, at the time, she was asking about sleeping arrangements on the post-college backpack tour of Europe I was taking with my girlfriend at the time."
"Living in sin, were you?"
"For the duration of the trip. That pretty much cured me of Amy. We were at each other's throats by the end, practically. You never really know a person until you travel with them."
"Ain't that the truth."
We take a leisurely lunch as the horses graze, and, finally, at a little after 1500, we brush them down and put them back in their stalls. I'm really amazed at how comfortable I am with Clay. Part of it's the lack of pressure about any sort of romantic entanglement, but it's more than that. I can be myself with him, and I suspect he's doing the same thing. He's not at all the same person that he projects at work. I'm not either, really. I guess because I don't have to compete with him, like I do the men in the office, I don't have worry about too many things around him. I can act silly, and I know it won't come back to haunt me later.
As we stand at our cars, I say, "I had a really good time. Thanks for inviting me out here."
"Yeah, it was fun. Anytime you want to ride, let me know."
"Okay. Call me this week and tell me what time you want me to be ready for this thing next Saturday, okay?"
"No problem. My mother is also going, and, if you don't mind, I thought we could catch a ride with her. She has a car and driver, and that does make it easier."
"That's fine. I'd like to meet your mother. Is she still giving you a hard time about your reunion?"
"Not so much, although I suspect that she's not through with me yet. I did talk to her, though, and she seemed to accept what I had to say."
"Well, that's good. I still wouldn't mind filling out your 'where are they now' form."
"You have quite a devious look on your face. Maybe I'll fax it to you. If I remember."
"I won't wait on pins and needles for it. Listen, I do have to get back. I have a motion to suppress hearing first thing tomorrow, and I need to review the file again."
"All right, see you next week."
"Bye."
"Wait," he says.
I turn around and get hit in the head with a pair of sweatpants. I grab them before they fall on the ground. "Thanks, Clay," I say sarcastically.
"I washed them. I'll see you later."
"If I say goodbye are you going to hit me with any other clothing?"
"No, goodbye," he grins, getting in his car.
He follows me out of the farm and quite a ways down the road. I can see him singing in the car, and I can tell it's not opera. I call his cell and say, "What are you listening to? You're really into that song back there."
"Elvis..."
"Presley?" I interrupt, breaking into hysterics.
"No, Costello. It's classic."
"Right, I'll let you get back to it then. Later."
"Bye."
The week passes quickly, and Harm is majorly kissing my ass. I don't know if he called Clay to apologize, but I fully intend to ask on Saturday. When Saturday rolls around, I get my hair and nails done and then laze around the house watching Sixteen Candles, which I just have to watch every time it's on and I'm home. I know what happens, of course, but the end is just so sweet that I keep watching even though I should be getting ready. Of course, once the movie is over, I start to panic a little, and I smudge my mascara, so I have to make that eye up again. Then I realize I have no black pantyhose at all, since the ones I have seem to be beset with large runs, so I decide to go the garter and stocking route. I then have trouble
finding a matching pair of black stockings without a run. The only ones I can find have a seam down the back. Of course, it takes me forever to get them straight, and I'm like 15 minutes late by that point.
I throw on my dress finally. It's a few years old, but, after consultation earlier in the week with an acquaintance who is really into fashion, I decide that it hasn't gone out of style. I think Clay's seen it before--I wore it a long time ago to the NATO ball where Harm's neighbor tried to assassinate the king and princess of Romania. The dress cost a fortune, and I've only worn it twice so I drag it out again. I slide into my shoes, throw on some earrings, grab my wrap and purse, and head out the door without any further incident. Clay had given me directions to his mother's, and, fortunately, there's no traffic, so I arrive only half as late as I started out being. It's kind of embarrassing for me, though, because I'm NEVER
late.
Clay made the introductions, and I apologized profusely for my tardiness. Porter Webb must have sensed my embarrassment and was very gracious. I relaxed a little bit and looked around me. Holy cow, this place is nice. Very elegant, just like Clay's. But also fairly homey. There are a lot of photographs in the living room, where we're sitting. I obviously don't know anything about Clay's father, but he certainly inherited some of his good taste from his mother. We had a little snack and chatted for a bit. I relaxed even more as time went on. Clay and his mother are actually pretty damn hilarious together.
They clearly have some sort of unspoken language, and it's very entertaining watching them.
I know that Harm has made jokes about Clay's relationship with his mother, but I don't really think he's got some sort of strange Oedipal complex. I think she's just important to him, and he's unapologetic about it. I also know that she's one of
the few people he can talk to about his work life and who bridges the gap between the two worlds that he seems to live in. They're very careful to make sure they include me in their conversation, and, after about fifteen minutes, Clay excuses himself to finish getting ready.
"Sarah, I'm so glad you joined us this evening. Clay would think I'm butting in, but your friendship has been very good for him. He needs someone to talk to besides me. Plus, you're going to saving him a lot of aggravation this evening."
"So I've heard."
"They mean well, but they won't take no for an answer either. These are people who've known him their whole lives, and I've told them to let it go. But I'm sure you know how it is. People like to play matchmaker."
"That's true. I reminded him that people are trying to hook him up because they care about him. That doesn't make it any less annoying, I'm sure."
"No, it doesn't," he says, coming back into the room, tie tied and jacket on. "Well, shall we?"
The charity event, which is being hosted at an enormous house far out in the Virginia countryside, is full of people I've seen in "Names & Faces" in the Washington Post as well as a bunch of people from the various branches of government. It's kind of crazy that I'm here. Everyone Clay introduces me to is incredibly gracious, and I can't believe the difference between this event and the Navy Ball, where my friends were downright rude, at the beginning of the evening anyway. He finally walks us out of the stream of traffic.
"I need a breather," he says. We've been getting a barrage of questions from people we talk to, all of whom are assuming that we're a couple. I sort of anticipated it, but people REALLY want him to get married. And then there's all the confusion about the gay/straight thing. It's kind of funny, actually. Of course, I'm not on the receiving end of it, and I can tell he's getting exasperated.
"Everyone has been really nice. Which leads me to apologize again for the behavior of my co-workers at the Navy Ball."
"It's okay, Sarah."
"Listen, I hate to bring him up, but did Harm call you this week?"
"I got a voice mail when I was in New York. He asked me to call him back, but I haven't really been in the mood. Why?"
"Well, he apologized to me for his behavior, and I was hoping he would apologize to you."
"The great Harmon Rabb apologized?"
"Yeah. It was as hard for him, I think, as it was for you in Colombia." As I say that, I pinch his earlobe a little.
"I would really prefer to forget about my behavior down there, if it's all the same to you."
"Okay, I won't bring it up again. But, seriously, he expected to apologize and for everything to be okay. I told him he had been acting like a jealous boyfriend, that he wasn't my boyfriend, and that he'd never be. Then he asked me why not."
"Did you tell him?" Clay smirks.
"No, I didn't tell him. You're the one who told me not to damage him for life. I just told him it wouldn't work."
"He really has no clue, does he?"
"No, he doesn't. I just wanted to see if he was man enough to apologize to you. That's all. We can stop talking about Harm, unless you have other mocking comments you'd like to make."
"I'm sure I can think of a few." He's silent for about a minute. "Nothing's coming to me right now." I laugh.
"So, how was New York?"
"I was stuck in a conference room for two days so it was pretty damn boring, actually."
"Didn't you get out for dinner, even?"
"I was only there one night, and I was really bushed, so I ordered room service."
"I hope you were someplace nice, Clay."
"Yeah. I was at the Waldorf."
He asks me to dance then, and we dance for a while, until Porter cuts in. That was fine with me, actually, because I was dying of thirst. One of Clay's family friends, a Mrs. Voorhaar, cornered me at the bar and started asking me questions about how long we had been going out and that sort of thing. I really didn't have to answer her, because she never paused long enough for me to actually answer one of her questions. She did go on and on about how Clay is the perfect man. He's smart, good looking, likes to dance, has money, speaks all these languages, yadda yadda. I was finally saved by the man himself, who
pulled me back on the dance floor.
"Sorry about that," he says. "Mrs. Voorhaar really likes the sound of her own voice."
"She really likes you, too. She thinks you're perfect. Isn't she a widow?" I know it's kind of mean, but I really couldn't resist.
"And here I thought you were my friend. Not only are you trying to set me up, but you're trying to set me up with a woman at least 25 years older than I am who doesn't know when to shut up. Not to mention the fact that she's wearing lime green eyeshadow and orange lipstick with a, really truly hideous, pink dress." I can't help it, I start laughing.
"Now I wish I'd told her how I had to save your sorry ass in Colombia. That'd knock you off the pedestal she's got you on. Although, you're right about the makeup and the dress."
"Can we forget about..."
"Colombia. I'm sorry. I couldn't think of another example, right of the top of my head."
"Because there aren't any."
"Whatever. I figuratively saved your ass over the Declaration, as I recall."
"Yeah. Listen, I never apologized for using you like that."
"I had it figured out right away, you know, I was just waiting for an opportunity to ditch you all. I knew you were CIA, remember, in the Admiral's office?"
"Yeah. How did you know, anyway?"
"You had a bit of a reputation in Bosnia. And that's all I'm saying."
"That's probably not good."
"Well, people respected you. They just didn't really like you that much. You do project a particular persona at work."
"Yeah. It cuts down on personal involvements and entanglements. I know that sounds bad, but it really makes it easier to get things done. And I hope people realize I'm not really that bad. I usually give information back when I can, you know."
"I know, Clay. And Rabb has been on the receiving end of an ass-saving from you on more than one occasion."
"Yeah. I should remind him of that from time to time."
"I don't think that's such a bad idea. I should probably warn you, though, it probably won't do much good."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
We leave the topic of Harm for the evening. It becomes clear as the night goes on that Porter has about twice the energy of Clay and I combined. She's still chatting away and dancing, while we're collapsed on a couch at the back of the room. It's almost 0100, and I am really regretting riding with her.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was going to be one of these kind of evenings for her. This happens sometimes. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling kind of old."
"Yeah. I should have more energy. I just don't though. But I was up at 5:30."
"Why?" Clay asks, as if I totally lost my mind.
"I wake up that early every day, and I usually go back to sleep on the weekends, but I couldn't today."
"Oh. Listen, I know I didn't say anything earlier, but you look very nice. I seem to recall that dress. I liked it at the NATO Ball, as well."
"Why, thank you. You look nice yourself. But you're always well put together."
"So are you," he says, starting to laugh.
"Fine, make fun of my uniforms!" Oh, Lord, now I'm reading his mind. We banter back and forth for a little while longer when I tease him about being a clothes horse, and FINALLY, Porter comes up at 0123. I am so ready to leave. We get into the car about ten minutes later, because it takes a moment for the limo to get to the front door of the mansion we're in.
Porter is talking a mile a minute as Clay and I are leaning against the foyer wall trying not to fall asleep.
We get back to her place close to 0200. I apparently dozed off in the car, because I started awake when we stopped. Clay was apparently in the same state, because he says he's going to stay, and she offers me a room. I gratefully take her up on it, because I think I might fall asleep if I try to drive home. I have probably at least a half hour drive. The room she shows me to is huge, and there is a large but incredibly beautiful four poster bed in it. There's a knock on the door, and it's Clay with his arms full. He's just wearing a t-shirt with his tuxedo pants and a no shoes. I notice his chest, I can't help it. He must work out. Okay, I'm really tired. I mentally shake myself out of it.
"After she keeps us up half the night, she goes to bed and send me in here with the sheets." We get to work on the bed, and after we get it made he grabs the other things off the dress, and lists them as he puts them on the bed. "Pajamas, towels, toothbrush, toothpaste. Soap, shampoo, conditioner are in the bathroom, which is in there," he says pointing at a door. "And if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Thanks for going with me tonight. It was actually fun."
"Yeah, it was. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Clay."
"Good night, Sarah."
I manage to brush my teeth and get undressed and into the pajama top. I don't even have the energy to put the bottoms on. I collapse into bed and sleep like the dead. At 1000 the next morning I hear a knock on the door. I open my eyes, and, for a moment, I have no idea where I am. Whoever it is knocks again.
"Come in," I say. I'm not quite awake enough to sit up.
It's Clay. "It's 10 o'clock," he says. He's still in a robe and his hair is sticking up in about 50 directions. I see him look down, and I do as well. I'm lying on my side, and one of my legs is on top of the comforter. "Aren't you cold?" he says. He has a funny look on his face.
"Not really. This bed is pretty warm. Very comfortable. Do I have to get up?"
"There's food if you do." He knows me too well.
"Okay." I sit up. It's the first step to getting out of the bed.
"I'm wearing what I have on. You might want to put on the pants though. Do you remember where the kitchen is?"
"I think I can find it. Give me five minutes. I need to at least brush my teeth."
"All right. How do you like your eggs?"
"Over easy, please."
The door closes. He sounded about as awake as I am. I get semi-presentable in five minutes, pull on the pajama pants, and head downstairs. As soon as I hit the kitchen, Clay hands me a cup of coffee and points me to the cream and sugar. Porter, however, is incredibly chipper. She is bustling around, and I think she made enough food for like ten people. We both just let her chatter away as we gulp down coffee. By the time we need a second cup, she's setting food down in front of us. There's toast, eggs, home fries, bacon, and sausage. I just stare at Clay for a second.
"Don't eat what you don't want," he whispers as she goes over to the fridge for orange juice. I just nod. I mean, I like to eat, but this is just...a lot of food. I don't think Clay stays here that often, because she seems to really relish in being able to bustle around and hover over him. He's letting her, to his credit.
The conversation starts to pick up with that second cup of coffee. By unspoken agreement, we let Porter lead the way, and we spend the time rehashing the evening. Porter has a very wicked sense of humor, and she was letting us in on all the undercurrents of gossip, which we weren't paying any attention to. I didn't really know anybody anyway, so I wouldn't have
understood it. But she had both of us in hysterics with all of the stories she was sharing.
When we were done and had helped clean up, she was finally out of steam, ands stories. Clay quietly led me back upstairs and into his room. It seemed to still be pretty much intact, from high school at least. "Let me see if I can get something for you to wear." He roots through some drawers and finally comes up with khakis and a sweater. I'm trying to look around the room as surreptitiously as possible. Although I know Clay a lot better than I did several months ago, there's still a lot that's a mystery. "I don't seem to have any sweats here." He hands them to me.
"Thanks."
"Listen, if you want to get out of here before like 10 this evening, you might want to leave soon. My mother seems to really like you. She may start breaking out the baby pictures, and nobody wants that."
"Oh, I don't know about that." I see the look of panic. "I'm just kidding! I'll shower and then I do need to get going. I have some work I need to get done."
"I do too. We'll leave together. Double team her." He starts chuckling. "I know that sounds bad, but you know how mothers are."
"Actually, I don't."
"Shit. I'm sorry..."
"Don't be. It's not your fault. Just know how lucky you are." He nods, and I turn and go back to the room I slept in. I decide to investigate the mattress while the shower's running. I am seriously considering a new one, one just like this, because it's so comfortable. I make a mental note of the name, then hop in the shower. The shower is also very nice--I wish I had water pressure like this in my apartment. I'm in there for far longer than I'd normally be, but I finally get myself to move. On my way down the stairs, I hear Clay whisper, "Would you please butt out," to his mother. I make sure I drop one of the shoes I'm carrying so they know I'm within earshot. Heels are going to look really ridiculous with this Abercrombie and Fitch look Clay gave me, but there's nothing I can do.
Porter looks a little chastised, but Clay thanks her for everything and kisses her goodbye. I say my goodbyes as well. She invites me to come back any time. I'm a little taken aback by that. She seems very enthusiastic about it, and I wonder what's going through her mind. I shake it off and say goodbye to Clay, and I follow him as far as his exit off 395. He waves as he drives off, and I laugh a little. I shake my head as I think about how strange this whole thing is, but I'm so glad he found me that day, crying outside the building. I feel much better now that I have someone I can talk to. Who would have ever
thought it would be Clayton Webb?
