Rick found her a half hour later, sitting on the couch in their den. She had her feet tucked under her, a highlighter pen between her teeth, engrossed in her report. The stereo was on, playing the soundtrack from Twister on compact disc. It was on Van Halen’s “Humans Being”; the words “You wonder why your life is screaming, wonder why we’re humans being” made Rick grin sardonically. That was exactly how he felt at this moment. Sheila had texted him to invite him to a party at a club in La Jolla. She had told him a few people he knew would be there, and that he’d have a good time. She had also told him he could bring his wife; she had said the word as if it were distasteful to her. The idea to bring Midnight itself seemed an afterthought. In reality, Sheila had suddenly realized that inviting Rick wouldn’t be considered appropriate if she didn’t invite his wife too; she didn’t want to appear unseemly, even if she really only wanted Rick to be there.
****
Sheila Theland knew all the ins and outs of high society. She knew how to use insinuation and coquettish wiles to get anything she wanted, and right now she wanted one Richard Debenshire. To Sheila’s way of thinking, someone as uncouth as Rick’s wife didn’t have a right to be married to a member of upper English society. The Debenshire family had been considered higher society simply because Robert Debenshire represented many important clients such as Joseph Sinclair’s family. A lot of people had been shocked and appalled when Joe saw fit to marry so low-income a nobody from America—and she had been a child, no less! Sheila still found that appalling, as well as his choice of what Sheila considered a distraction—that job he had! Sheila’s father was of the same mind, hence the lack of invitations to the Sinclair household. Not that the reprehensible couple seemed affected by the Thelands’ disassociation, but Sheila was sure Joseph Michael Sinclair would rue the day he married the little tart. It didn’t bother her that she had never met Randy Sinclair; she felt she knew all she needed to know, which she had garnered from her father’s statements.
Sheila had grown up in a household that did things the old society way. She had been taught to be ladylike and graceful. She didn’t have to worry about her future, because whatever happened, she knew her father would always take care of her. As a teen, Sheila Theland had set her sights on Richard Debenshire. Her father had been less than pleased, because Richard Debenshire was a hoodlum, and therefore beneath Sheila’s considerations. But Sheila had heard about Rick’s wild side, and she liked the idea of taming him; his sharp good looks and long hair excited her own wild side. It never occurred to her that he had a reputation as a player for a reason, and had she stopped to think about it, she would have shrugged and said that was with “other women,” not her.
Sheila had pursued Rick as she had never pursued a man before. When he finally took her up on her many suggestions she had been totally flustered; it was not something she was used to. Rick had kept her guessing during their tumultuous six-month relationship. She had come to think of him as fire; the closer she got, the harder she tried to contain him, the more she got burned and the more pain she felt. In the end she had told him she thought she was pregnant, in a last desperate attempt to hold on to him. She hadn’t been sure that she was; in fact, she had only been two days late.
His reaction to her revelation wasn’t what she had been prepared for. She had expected either out and out anger or sullen resignation—she received neither. He had stared at her for a moment, then off into space for a long time. She could see he was considering his options. Then he nodded imperceptibly, as if he had just made an agreement with himself. To her utter shock he stood up and left, and she didn’t hear from him again for two weeks. When he eventually showed up at her parents’ door he was dressed in his customary jeans, black cotton button-up shirt, and leather jacket. He asked for her and stood leaning indolently against the doorjamb, preventing the butler from closing the door.
The butler had told Sheila Mr. Debenshire was there to call on her, and she had frantically tried to straighten herself up; she had been crying only moments before, thinking she had lost him forever. She had run around her room, trying to look like she hadn’t been doing just that. As she rushed down the elegantly appointed hallway of her parents’ home, she told herself she would be cool and unaffected by him, punishing him for his rebuff.
Reaching the top of the stairs, almost breathless, she looked down at him and saw him waiting patiently, calmly, almost bored. All she had wanted to do was make him smile at her again. As she rushed down the stairs, all her dignity and cavalier attitudes went by the wayside, and she became the person she abhorred most—a desperate, submissive, love-struck teenager. When she got to him, she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, sensing that if she tried to kiss him on the lips he wouldn’t return it. She took his hand and led him into the sitting room. He sat on the sofa, leaning back against the expensive damask cushions, regarding her calmly.
“So?” he had said simply, one eyebrow raised cynically.
“So?” Sheila replied, almost stupidly, then realized what he was asking. “Oh!” She was startled that he would be so crass as to bring up a subject of such a delicate nature so casually, as if he were asking after something as everyday as the weather.
When she didn’t respond to his question, he narrowed his eyes, his mouth pursing in anger held in check. At least, she had thought, he isn’t rude enough to actually ask the question outright. She was always making excuses for his attitude and demeanor. She also knew she shouldn’t continue to play games with him, that she should tell him what he wanted to know, but she just couldn’t believe that was the only reason he had come. Surely he had missed her too.
“I’ve missed you a great deal,” she said, smiling shyly at him, pretending not to understand what he was asking. Hoping his refined behavior wouldn’t allow him to ask her directly, and that she could get him interested in her again in the meantime.
Rick didn’t respond. He just watched her, his deep blue eyes cool, his expression showing that he was unaffected by her. Finally, she shook her head, her eyes on the floor. Somehow she had expected him to breathe a sigh of relief and tell her to be more careful, that they could get back to their relationship. But once again, he surprised her, standing up and walking out without one word. She didn’t hear from him for over two months, until they ran into each other at a party his parents had forced him to attend. He and Joe were there together, and they were loud, rude; their behavior was beyond reprehensible. When she caught him alone at one point, he looked at her as if he didn’t even know her. She had been devastated, but had managed to convince herself since then that he had only been drunk, and that was why he pretended not to recognize her.
Sheila had no idea what she had put him through, mentioning a possible pregnancy with such a casual air. She had sent him into a tailspin; he had seen his life spiraling out of control over someone he didn’t even love. He could see having to marry her, and being stuck in a miserable marriage, all because he had sex with the wrong person at the wrong time.
****
Somehow all of the past seemed to have slipped away, and much like with any experience, especially from the carefree days of youth, over time he seemed only to remember how much fun he’d had. Something in the back of his mind was nagging him as he picked up his keys and headed out the door, making a point of not looking back to see if Midnight was watching. If he had looked, he would have seen that she was watching, her face drawn and unhappy. Then again, if he’d looked, she may have changed her expression so as to appear unaffected by what he was so obviously doing.
After Rick left, Midnight sat and listened to music. She remembered all the fun times she and Rick had had, and how they seemed so well matched. We are well matched, she thought wryly. Too well matched. We’re almost exactly the same. She shook her head, wondering what was going to happen to them, unsure how to stop this out-of-control ride they were on. Knowing the ride had to end somewhere, but afraid to even think of where.
Midnight fe
ll asleep on the couch and slept fitfully until 3:00 a.m., when she woke to the sound of the front door closing. She sat up, unaware of how young she looked, all tousled from sleep, the sleeves of her oversized shirt coming down over her hands as she rubbed her eyes. Rick stood looking at her from the entryway, suddenly feeling horribly guilty about having such a good time, feeling like what he had just done was going to end everything between him and Midnight. And desperately afraid that it would. But as Midnight glanced at the clock on the VCR and then at him, her face set in a cynical “I told you so” mask, Rick felt the anger well up in him. He knew he didn’t have a right to be mad at her; he knew what he was feeling was anger at himself, for tearing apart the only thing that really meant anything to him, but he was unable to keep his mouth shut.
“You have a problem?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Midnight looked at him for a long moment, shook her head almost sadly, and then stood up. Walking right by him, she headed down the hallway to their bedroom and closed the door very quietly.
Rick stared after her, surprised at her reaction, unsure of what to do next. In his ambivalent state, he headed over to their liquor cabinet. There wasn’t much in it; Midnight and he weren’t really the hard liquor types. But he found a bottle of vodka used to make watermelon shooters, and he took a long, burning swig. Aren’t I reverting to my old habits, and doesn’t that just make me so mature? he thought derisively. He shook his head, knowing he was being ridiculous, but not willing to feel ridiculous and go in and grovel to Midnight. Part of this is her fault, he told himself, feeling ever so slightly vindicated. Serves her right. He took another long swig from the bottle he held cradled against his chest. Great, a more rational part of his mind answered. And this will show her.
“Shut up,” Rick said out loud. Then he chuckled. Great, now I’m starting to sound like one of the drunks in Hyde Park. Shutting down his senses, he proceeded to get drunk and pass out on the couch.
Meanwhile, Midnight leaned against the bedroom door—she had made a grand effort not to slam it—staring blindly at the far wall. She felt torn up inside, not wanting to know where Rick had gone, or with whom. But she was aware all the while that she did know, that she just wouldn’t let herself think about it right now. Like Scarlett O’Hara said in that all-time great motion picture, “I’ll think about it tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Midnight said, moving to lie down on the bed, “and look what that got her. Rhett left in the end anyway.”
She thought about it for a while, and realized it only made her want to go out and pound on Rick’s head or scream at him for hours on end. She decided that would not solve anything. Whaddya know, she thought, laughing to herself. The kid may grow up yet. She knew that was what Tom would say. Tom was her oldest and dearest friend, and at times he seemed to be the only person she could count on for a pick-me-up. Even Joe had his own problems now. Midnight wondered vaguely what was happening with Randy’s application for the PD; she made a mental note to check on it the next day.
Chapter 5
Randy had continued through the hiring process with San Diego Police Department. She had talked about it very little with Joe; she knew it was a very sore subject and best left alone. Just when things had gotten back to normal, with less tension between them, Randy got the word that a background check was being done on her. That usually meant a shoo-in for the candidate, unless there was something questionable in their background. With Randy, there was less than nothing questionable. Her husband was a sergeant with the department, and her two closest friends, Midnight and Rick, were also police officers, so things were pretty sure.
Randy got the call from her background investigator and immediately went to Joe’s office—she wanted him to hear it from her. When she walked in it was obvious that he had already heard. His face could have been carved out of stone, his chin resting on his fist, his elbow on his desk. He stared right at her from the minute she walked in the door, his expression unemotional, almost passive, but Randy knew better. She’d been with Joe for over three years now, and she knew that with him, calm usually meant anything but passivity.
“You heard?” she asked quietly, hating herself just a little bit for being so meek. He nodded slowly, his jaw set in controlled anger, as she sat in the chair across from his desk.
How many times had she sat in this exact place, happily talking to her husband, feeling so special because he had chosen her above all the women he had dated before? They had talked about everything in this office. Even about having children, once; Midnight had had Mikeyla at work that day, and Randy had felt a particular pull of desire to have a little baby of her own. She’d walked into Joe’s office all dreamy-eyed, and Joe had started laughing the moment he saw her.
“What?” she had asked him, smiling shyly.
“What?” he repeated, still smiling broadly. “I know what’s made you all doe-eyed—you’re lookin’ at Night’s kid and you want one too.” His eyes had sparkled when he said it, and Randy knew then that he wanted it too. They had spent half the afternoon talking about it, whether this was the right time, how they would handle the daycare issue. Randy had come away from the conversation feeling very loved and very happy.
But now, things were not so happy. If she became a police officer, she certainly couldn’t have children right now. It struck her that her decision for a career had had yet another impact on her life. It hadn’t really occurred to her at the time that applying for and becoming a police officer meant she wasn’t going to have children any time soon. The thought nagged at her while she sat waiting to hear what Joe would say about the whole thing. A tiny bit of her, a part she wouldn’t even begin to recognize, was hoping Joe would say she couldn’t do it so things could go back to normal with them, but the rest of her was ready to battle him if he tried to stop her.
She waited in silence for what seemed like forever. She knew saying something to him right now would probably ignite his anger. Joe was like a smoldering ember when he was mad, and he just needed someone to blow on that ember to make it flare up into rage. Randy had long since learned not to be the person to wake the fire. So she continued to wait. But before Joe said anything, Midnight came in; she wasn’t just a slight breeze on Joe’s anger—she was basically a gust of wind.
“Hey!” Midnight said gleefully, walking over to Randy and shaking her. “I heard you made it!”
Randy didn’t say anything. She just looked up at Midnight and smiled weakly. Joe all but flew out of his chair.
“How the fuck do you know already?” he growled, his eyes narrowed at Randy as if she had told Midnight before coming to tell him.
Midnight gazed back at her partner of many years, not batting an eyelash at Joe’s anger, nor his grossly insubordinate behavior. She had dealt with Joe in this kind of state many times before.
She shrugged casually. “Probably the same way you did.” Her voice was so calm and even that Joe didn’t say another word. He just sank back into his chair, blowing his breath out in a rush. He shook his head again, as if Midnight knowing Randy was “in” made it true beyond any doubt. He looked at Randy, his eyes daring her to defy him. He said a single word, his voice low, certainly not indicating that he expected a negative reply. “So?”
Randy looked from Joe to Midnight, then back to Joe. She had seen encouragement in the other woman’s eyes, and drew in a deep breath. “I’m taking it.” Her voice held the slightest tremor, but her expression showed determination.
Joe was silent again. He looked at Midnight, noting that she was ready and willing to do battle on Randy’s behalf. He nodded, but Randy could see he just didn’t plan on taking on both Randy and Midnight—he’d wait. She almost dreaded the ride home that evening. She didn’t like to fight with anyone, least of all Joe. In the few fights they’d had, Randy had seen that Joe could be ruthless if he really believed in what he was fighting for—or against. She knew, too, that Joe was very much against her becoming a police officer, and she knew why
, but she didn’t feel that she should be stymied because of the death of Joe’s parents so many years ago.
So she waited. The rest of the day seemed to fly by, punctuated by a few small incidents that mostly stemmed from Joe’s anger at her. He flew off the handle at one of the newer members of FORS because the young man had taken a dangerous chance in the field, an action that could have easily resulted in his injury or death, which served to further polarize Joe’s concern about losing people he cared about. Midnight became part of the altercation, simply due to her position as the boss. Even knowing what she did about Joe’s current state of mind, she tried to reason with him, saying he would have done the same thing. Joe had left her office, slamming the door.
The rest of the day didn’t go much better. Before Randy knew it, it was time to go home. Joe walked out of his office with his jacket on and keys in hand. He went to speak to Midnight for a few minutes, then walked toward the elevators. Randy stood up and followed him. This was not going to be a fun ride home—she knew that already, just from the set of his jaw and the stiff way he moved. Joe didn’t wear seething well; one could always tell how he was feeling.
The walk to the car was silent. Joe didn’t take her hand as he usually did, but Randy didn’t really expect him to. Joe pushed a CD into the player and Def Leppard’s album Slang started out of the speakers. “All I Want Is Everything” was playing a few minutes later as Joe got on the freeway toward La Jolla. As he always did when a song fit his feelings, Joe reached over and turned it up. The words seemed to have been written for their lives at this moment. It talked about how hard things could get in a relationship when one party wanted so much and the other wasn’t willing to give it, asking if wanting everything was asking too much. Joe wanted to know if he was asking too much to want his wife safe.
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