TITLE: Between the Shadow and the Soul (9/?)
PAIRING: A veritable clusterfuck… but there is only one way it can end up.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never was. Never will be. No profit. Just love.

(Cindy’s POV)

The first twenty minutes in Jill’s office were almost normal. Other than Claire remaining there for a prolonged period during the course of a workday, it could have been any other day. They’d segued from subject to subject without too much time for breath, or thought, expertly melding case talk and girl talk into one seamless conversation that, from an outside perspective, would have seemed to lack any kind of actual focus. But the stream-of-consciousness discussion was far from pointless. It had an explicit point, distinct and draining. The focus just wasn’t on what to say. What not to say was the only critical element. And, for twenty minutes, they had navigated quite well, traversing the dangerous topography like pros.

Then - as if a buzzer had gone off at the twenty minute mark - they ran out of things to say to each other, and the conversation had turned into sudden silence. No one had erred and mentioned Lindsay’s name, Kiss-Me-Not or the ever-present fact that they may or may not actually be having dinner as a foursome that night. They just seemed to realize all at once that, when trying to avoid so many pitfalls, maybe it was best to just not say anything at all.

Cindy got up then and moved to one of the windows in Jill’s office. Alone, despite the fact that one of her best friends and Jill, whatever she was turning into, were just behind her, she stared out at the city as if she could will Lindsay back to safety through desire alone. And, even after several stretched minutes without result, and with hope rapidly sinking, she just continued staring, just kept believing in the power of desire, because she didn’t know what else to do.

It wasn’t like the reality of the situation had wandered from her mind, or would until they heard some news from the frontlines, but it wasn’t until Denise made an appearance that it became almost unbearable.

“Bernhardt,” the generally-dispassionate ADA was saying, in a tone that indicated directives would be soon to follow, as she plowed around the doorframe into Jill’s office.

Cindy turned from the window and Claire swiveled in her chair, and Denise was met with, not one, but three sets of eyes, all waiting to see what she would have the gall to say given the present circumstances.

Denise took a long look at each of them in turn and dropped her gaze almost contritely. “I’ll come back later,” she said softly. Then, she left them without any kind of reprimand or sarcastic parting remark.

In her absence, the silence grew so heavy, Cindy put her hands against the window to keep it from taking her to her knees. She longed for the snarky attitude that Denise usually bestowed upon them, and suspected that Jill and Claire were doing the same. Apparently, Denise’s compassion felt like the apocalypse.

Mere moments later, when a sudden burst of music interrupted the mutual gloom and doom, it was so jumbled in her brain that Cindy couldn’t distinguish the song, but it didn’t matter whose ringtone it was. They had piled their cells together on the corner of Jill’s desk, not quite sure which one of them Lindsay would choose to call… if she chose to call any of them. Which made any phone fair game. Though they lunged simultaneously and Cindy was furthest from the pile, adrenaline, or maybe panic, gave her the advantage and she beat the hands of both Jill and Claire to the ringing cell.

“Linds?” she asked hopefully, before the phone had even made it to her ear.

In the extended pause that followed, Cindy’s stomach dropped like a brick to her feet, only to rebound into her throat when Lindsay’s soft, familiar voice finally responded.

“I thought I called Claire.”

“You probably did. I grabbed…” was all that Cindy could manage before choking on a sudden sob she hadn’t felt rising and didn’t have a chance to hold back.

“Hey,” Lindsay soothed. “I’m alright.”

Realizing that she had been expecting a call from Jacobi or Tom just as much as she had been expecting this call, tears started falling unchecked and Cindy tried valiantly, but hopelessly, to regain her composure.

“Cindy,” Lindsay murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Cindy breathed in return.

“Cindy?” a worried voice pleaded from behind her.

Turning to Jill and Claire, guilt washed over her when she saw the looks on their faces and realized how her side of the conversation must have sounded.

“She’s okay,” she assured them, forcing a smile, and both Jill and Claire took much needed breaths.

“Jill?” Lindsay queried.

“And Claire,” Cindy replied, sniffing and regaining some semblance of control. “What happened?”

“He’s dead,” Lindsay responded. “I shot him.”

“Good,” Cindy said immediately, without thinking. But, despite the fact that killing a man was difficult for Lindsay, even if the man wasn’t deserving of her guilt, Cindy couldn’t take it back. She wouldn’t if she could. “And your dad? Is he okay?”

“He was shot.”

“Oh God, Linds…”

“No,” Lindsay started quickly. “He’s okay. He was awake and talking. He’s going to be fine.”

“Oh,” Cindy breathed. “Thank God. So, are you on your way back?”

“Uh, no,” Lindsay began hesitantly. “I’m going to go to the airport, I think. I figure I should… you know… say goodbye to Pete.”

The words seemed to echo around Cindy’s head, almost as if they were hollow.

“Yeah, of course you should,” Cindy murmured in reply. “You should say goodbye to Pete.”

“Are we still doing dinner?” Lindsay asked, sounding almost pleased at the prospect.

“If you’re up for it,” Cindy returned, unable to reach Lindsay’s level of enthusiasm.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Just pick a place and let me know where.”

“I’ll text you.”

“Okay. See you later.”

“Okay.”

Not really wanting to end the conversation, Cindy saw little use in keeping a dead line to her ear. Looking into Claire’s now amused expression, she sheepishly handed Claire back her phone. “Sorry,” she said, bouncing on her feet, trying to expend the nervous energy she couldn’t seem to shake. “So, Lindsay wants to know where we want to eat.”

Claire smiled.

Jill smiled too.

But, despite the fact that the news they’d just received was the best news they could have hoped for, Jill’s smile, much like Cindy’s own, was oddly subdued.

I forgot to mention that Dina Meyer is on The Mentalist tonight. CBS. 10 pm.

*sigh* Dina is so my fave.

Don’t plan a vacation that is going to cost an ungodly amount of money unless you have said money already stashed away in a piggy bank.

Otherwise, you end up spending weeks upon weeks upon weeks doing nothing but working your fingers down to the nubs so that you actually have money to spend on the trip after you are done paying for hotels and transportation. Aside from working out in an effort to minimize butt juttage so that you don’t knock small children down when passing them on the beach, that is.

Quick butt juttage sidetrack here. This is a true story. And not like a Fox News or 700 Club true story. This one is actually real.

When we went to Ireland last spring, we flew out of D.C., but on our way back home we pit-stopped in New York, so, when we went home, we flew from JFK to Long Beach. So, anyway, on that flight back, we get on the plane and we are all situated, our seatmate tucked safely by the window, me in the middle, and Shawna on the aisle.

This woman starts down the aisle toward us and she was, literally, nothing but butt. Like, she could have just been a head sitting on top of a butt with appendages for the amount of torso she possessed. We see her coming and think to ourselves, “Selves, it’s all good. Just don’t get in the way of it.”

It’s really all that you can do.

So, of course, she is in the row directly across the aisle from us. She stops beside our row, turns to put her carry-on up and Whap! Shawna takes the butt right in the shoulder. If she had been standing up, it would have totally put her right down. So I have to look away and cover my face, because, inside, I am laughing hysterically. And the best part was, she didn’t move for like two minutes. She just stood there, resting her butt on Shawna’s shoulder.

To be fair, I feel like I now have to share about the time that we went to the NYC Pride Parade and a super tall guy who was walking in the parade came over to talk to the person next to us and turned away from me and his butt was pretty much even with my face and he was wearing chaps without anything underneath. And they proceeded to have like a ten minute conversation. Yeah. That happened.

The butt juttage story also reminds me of the Kim Kardashian tray table incident, in which she supposedly knocked some guy’s drink into his lap or something,  just by, you know, trying to turn sideways.

All of these butt mishaps. Seems like a design flaw to me. If I were the Great Creator, I would still give people butts of unusual size (the world would be a sad, booty-deprived place without them), but I would also give them whiskers to help them better navigate tight spaces. Seriously, is this concept really that hard? How do I apply?

Wow. That really wasn’t a quick sidetrack at all, was it?

Anyway, heathens and hedonists, that’s where I’ve been. Nowhere.

Except for tonight. My first night off in about two weeks.

David Ford played in Philly tonight. It was the best performance of his that I have seen to date. And he played the one album cut that I like to cuddle up to when things start to get really heavy, and that I never thought I’d get to hear live. And it was sooooo goood to hear it. He also had some new songs that were truly special, one that gave my tear ducts a good cleansing, and a new “instrument” that simply blows the mind. If he is coming near enough to you for you to make it to one of his shows, please, I implore you, make it to one of his shows.

With any luck, you too will have a very special blond next to you who screams out the wrong performer’s name when David starts his first song, then pretends to be the biggest fan in the room. If you are really lucky, she’ll also miss three full songs at the end of the show because she is in the bathroom, and when she returns to the table, she’ll have her hair fixed differently, have her makeup touched up and smell like she’s taken a whore’s bath in perfume, seemingly in preparation for her post-performance meet-and-greet with the man with the changing name. At least, that’s what ours did.

SNL is ready to sign on Betty White for hosting duties… with a twist. She won’t host alone, but with a bevy of helpmates. Apparently, “This tag-team approach will allow Lorne Michaels to appease White-on-SNL zealots… without making the 88-year-old shoulder the burden of all 90 minutes on her own.”

Uh huh.

Betty White working out a deal to host Saturday Night Live = 98% awesome

‘Women of Comedy’ SNL episode = 92% awesome

Tina Fey, Amy Poehler & Molly Shannon together on SNL = 88% awesome

Allowing them to share hosting duties with Betty White = 50/50 awesome-to-douchey

Betty White’s ‘Women of Comedy’ SNL costars having an average age of 41, with two of them under the age of 40 = 85% douchey

Ignoring other female comedy legends who are still going strong = 96% douchey

Getting away with ageism by calling it concern = priceless

So, today we were discussing David Caruso. What else would we be doing on a Monday? And I said, when writing action dialogue, one should always think, “What would David Caruso say?” And then Shawna said, when writing action scenes, one should always think, “What would David Caruso do?” You know, like ‘What would Jesus do’?

But you could never actually use ‘What would David Caruso do?’ as a life-guider, because the answer is always going to be the same, regardless of the situation.

What would David Caruso do?

Pose in sunglasses.

This is especially true if the free item is issued by a government institution.

It might give you smallpox, for instance… Or be used to remotely spy on you in your own bedroom. Seriously.

This is a kind of fucked up that is nearly unbelievable. A bunch of adults getting together to put cameras into the rooms of teenagers so that they can have their own little peep show.

I don’t know how old this kid is or what  exactly the school officials saw, but I do know that it was none of their fucking business.

Down with the man!

… and also how to know if you’re a ninja at heart.

So, last night my nephew was IMing Shawna on Facebook and it was decided that, while it is normally mean to call someone a punk, it is quite alright to call me a punk. Just in case any of you have been hesitating to do so.

In retaliation for this decision, I sent a text to my vowel-challenged nephew and called him a punk back. And then he replied to me. And, where there should have been comprehension, there was a contorted expression of WTF all over my face. We actually had to go to Urban Dictionary to decipher part of his text. It was at that point that I realized that, no matter how many times I get carded at R-rated movies, I am officially an old fuck.

A few minutes ago, I glanced at the phrase “Kill Fungus” and saw “Kung Fu.” It was then that I realized that, no matter how much of an old fuck I am, I’m still a super-stealth ninja, lean, mean and ass-kickin’.

It’s like the aftermath of Christmas. I woke up this morning knowing that something truly fantastic was awaiting me. But now, it has been opened, and though it will continue to bring me pleasure for many years to come, I know what was in the package and I no longer have it to look forward to.

Anyway, Redhead was adorable. Sadly underused, but wonderfully worth watching. Hopefully it won’t be months before she is heard from again.

And Vanessa Williams is still killer hot.

Earlier tonight, we dug our car out of the foot of snow that the genius who has been driving the Bobcat around our complex all day pushed up on all sides of it.

With frying pans. I may lack a lot of qualities that I wish I had, but ingenuity isn’t one of them.

Fun reading —> 30 lbs of Pot Found in Jesus Pictures

My favorite part is when they equate hiding pot in Jesus pictures to hiding pot in senior citizens and children. I’m not even sure that hiding pot in Jesus would compare to hiding pot in senior citizens and children.

Without the sexy pants.

Other things I’ve learned this week:

Minivans are the new station wagons.

Super Bowl XLIV topped the Mash series finale as the most watched television broadcast of all time… supposedly.

It doesn’t matter who beats you to the fitness room. They will always be watching a talk show.

You should never step in a snow pile just because you think it is shorter than your boots. It isn’t.

Tulips thrive in coffee-infused water.

A really bad metal splinter is like a shiv for very tiny elves.

Wherever there are writers having a fairly decent night, there is always a snarky editor lurking to tell the writer just how much they suck.*

*not intended for web-renowned fic betas

And it was simply too damn cold to go out and play.

Which is unfortunate. The Super Bowl is always good for creating empty movie theaters and grocery stores. But, alas, we chose not to freeze our asses off to take advantage of it.

We did, however, stumble across this —> Puppy Bowl VI

Puppies going crazy on a fake football field. Bunny cheerleaders. A hidden camera in the water bowl. A blimp piloted by hamsters.

If the Super Bowl were this entertaining, I totally would have watched it.