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I stare in disgust at the shaky signature on the receipt.
One thousand, two hundred
and thirty seven dollars-- with sales
tax and tip. My tax dollars at work. I paid about that much in
taxes last quarter and those two just blew it all in a night.
Wait, that was just
my tab. Actually, they spent at least another
three hundred on booze, food and dancing in my presence.
I should report them to someone.
I glance around for
the couple. They're gone from the back of my
limousine.
The Call: 10:22 PM
I'd gotten a page to
go pick up a man and woman at the corner of
West Pico and Fox Hills Drive. When I got there, the two of them
were balancing on the edge of the curb like they're trying to
get
up the courage to jump into the deep end of the pool.
The woman, small, swathed
in a large black coat, was clutching an
open bottle of champagne with one hand. The other hand was trying
to straighten a sparkly little headband in her mussed red hair.
The man was tall, with
drooping shoulders and a big, sloppy grin.
He was wearing a tuxedo with the tie undone and the first two
buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned. His short hair stuck
straight up in the air like a little boy's. He had a plastic
champagne flute in each hand.
I rolled the window down.
"Did you order a car and driver?"
The woman was blinking
very rapidly. The man's eyes rarely
blinked.
"Yes!" she burst out.
I allowed a sigh to escape. It was going to be a long evening.
Hauling myself out of
the front seat, I went to the back and
opened the door. They hurried towards the cavern of leather
upholstery and plush carpeting. I barred the entrance.
"Payment needs to be secured before the evening begins."
Two sets of questioning eyes met mine.
Clearing my throat,
I explained, "In the event that you...don't
have the energy to secure payment at the end of the evening."
"Ah!" they
both said. The woman began fumbling at the tiny bag
hanging from her shoulder. She was finally able to hand me a
credit card.
I looked at it. 'Federal Bureau of Investigation.'
I gave them the once
over. Now the man blinked very rapidly and
the woman seemed to be forcing her eyes to remain open.
I raised an eyebrow.
The man smiled nearly convincingly. "We're on a case."
I raised the other eyebrow.
He cleared his throat
and began. "I'm a profiler with the FBI, and
this is--" he turned and motioned to the woman, "my
partner." She
nodded with a small sincere smile.
"You know about profilers?" he asked me.
"Yes," I said slowly. "I watch The Learning Channel."
"Ah, good!"
he gushed. "Well, you see, we're tracking a serial
killer. A horrible killer," he emphasized, "who seduces
beautiful
women in the backs of limousines." He glanced down at the
woman,
letting the goofy grin return. Her eyes grew round with
trepidation.
Gulping, he went on.
"To catch this person, I must put myself in
his place. Walk in his shoes." Motioning his head towards
the car.
"Ride in his path." He petered out. "To catch
him."
The woman gave me that
sincere smile again but a small hiccup
destroyed the effect. She looked mortified.
An awkward silence hung in the air.
I straightened my cap and fixed them with a sharp gaze.
"May I see some identification please?"
He gasped like a fish
out of water and her face went red. She
seemed to be biting down on some choice words but then began
fumbling at her purse again. He groped at his pockets, pulling
out
a wallet.
I looked over their
badges. I don't know what's happened to them
since those pictures were taken...but it must have been draining.
Dana Scully and Fox Mulder. Special Agents. On a case.
--Okaaay...
Wordlessly, I stepped aside in silent invitation.
After they settled into
the back seat, I took my position behind
the wheel. Rolling down the dividing window, I asked, "Where
to?"
Their eyes met and I
could see the indecision. I became
immediately concerned. Couples like this always end up in Las
Vegas. You add alcohol to uncertainty and it equals rash moves.
First the drive-through chapel--then the remorse. And I'd have
to
listen to them fight all the way back to Los Angeles.
The man suggested, "Want
to go down to San Diego? You can show me
some of your old haunts."
"I doubt the roller
rink is going to be open at midnight," she
responded.
San Diego was not good.
I needed to limit their choices before
they wandered too far afield.
"We're not allowed to take the cars to Mexico."
He looked disappointed. "Canada?"
Oh, he thought he was cute. "No, sir. No foreign countries."
"Ah," he said.
Then his face took on
a hard set and she looked a bit worried.
"2517 Zelzah Avenue, in Northridge, please."
He offered his empty
champagne flute to the female agent.
Carefully, she filled it and he took a deep drink.
"Yes, sir." I had a really bad feeling about this.
The Obligatory Mooning: 11:45 PM
Over the years, experience
has taught me to be prepared for
dubious customers. Them being government agents just made me
more
wary.
Although I'd never sought
a career using my degree from the ITT
Technical Institute, I called on my skills in just such instances.
I'd set up a very small surveillance camera trained on the
backseat. (My receiving television would automatically turn off
when the dividing window was activated.)
Illegal? Yes. An invasion
of privacy? Most certainly. But after
that 15-year-old girl ODd in my car, I decided to keep an eye
on
things. It's just nice to know how much I'll need to decontaminate
the upholstery. Besides, my screenwriting teacher told me to
observe the human condition as much as possible. It's been my
experience that it doesn't get much more human than the activities
in the backseat of a stretch limousine.
She waited for a few
minutes before asking tentatively, "Where are
we going, Mulder?"
"On a mission," he said grimly.
She looked worried again and filled her own glass.
He began to ramble and
she settled back in the seat like this was
a common occurrence, sipping from her drink as he talked. "Our
work was reduced to a collection of trivialities once again.
At
least when Jose Chung did it--"
Jose Chung was one of
my favorite authors. They were in one of his
books? Wait...Muldrake Whatever, that obsessive alien chasing
nut--
"But this time!"
He twisted in the seat to address her. "I mean,
how many people read that book?" She shrugged but he answered
his
own question. "A few hundred thousand. But a movie! Even
if it
does tank, at least a couple million people will see this
misrepresentation of our lives."
He began to brood. "Late
night viewings in motels. Cheap rentals
on a Saturday night when everything else is out." He nodded
to
himself. "It'll add up."
He said with a note
of finality, "And they'll always remember our
work as a joke and me as Garry Shandling."
She gasped. "Mulder! You're upset because of...vanity!"
He gasped right back
at her. "Please. You're played by Tea Leoni!
That's how people'll remember you!"
"Excuse me?"
She crossed her arms with a sharp snap of her joints.
"And anyway, no one is going to think of Garry Shandling
when they
think of you--"
His voice rose to a
high pitch. "What do you see when you think of
Patton? Do we even know what Patton looks like? No! We think
of
George C. Scott."
"And Moses," she added.
"Huh?"
"We think of Charlton Heston."
"Exactly!" he squealed.
I interrupted him. "Here you are, sir."
"Mulder?"
He was hunched over, fumbling at the sunroof.
Sighing to myself, I said, "Let me, sir."
I activated the sunroof
and he stood up on the seat, dropping his
pants.
"Mulder!" she screeched at him.
He had trouble getting his black silk boxers down.
"What the hell
are you doing, Mulder?" She sounded as impatient as
I felt.
"This is Federman's
house. He brought me here when we were in L.A.
last year. Skin Man's probably in the hot tub as we speak!"
She wasn't paying attention
to his attempts to pull down his
shorts. Instead, she queried, "You were in the hot tub?"
Summoning all his dignity,
he yanked the back of his boxers down
to flash his glaring white ass to the dark house. "There!"
he said
with triumph.
She mused, "Mulder,
I don't think he's home yet. He's probably
still at the after party."
After pulling his pants
back up, he sank back into the seat beside
her and took another gulp of champagne. "*After party*?
You've
been in this town two days and you use terms like, *after party*."
Mournfully, he shook his head.
She cocked an eyebrow
at him, the effect somewhat lost by having
to blow a wing of drooping hair from her eyes. "You're just
bitter."
He didn't disagree.
Without asking, I headed back towards the
freeway. As we stopped for the light at the corner of Zelzah
and
Roscoe, she called out, "Look, Mulder! Graceland!"
I looked where she was
pointing. A pathetic knockoff of Elvis'
home was on the opposite corner, behind white wrought iron gates
with large metal musical notes fastened to them.
He scrambled over to
press his face to the glass. "Wow! The home
of the premier Elvis impersonator in the world! Right here! By
coincidence, we found his house! It's a sign!"
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "So the evening is looking up?"
He turned to grin at her. "Am I being a pain?"
She grinned back but didn't answer.
I interrupted the moment
by activating the speaker. They both
jumped. "Next?"
The Kit Kat Klub: 12:15 A.M.
I'd suggested some music,
dancing, perhaps a late night nosh. They
each got a scared expression on their faces but nodded in
agreement.
I like this place because
they give me a free bottle for every
party I bring in. That way, when my AA counselor asks if I've
bought any booze that week, I can say no. I followed my couple
into the club, staying back in the shadows. I could keep an eye
on
them and slip back to the car when they were ready to leave.
They were in a dark,
intimate corner booth. A blues singer who
looked like she'd been to hell and back was moaning romantic
tunes
up on the stage. They were both swirling their deep orange
Bellinis with straws. And they were...talking.
They talked for an hour
and a half. They seemed to be enjoying
their conversation but it was hardly good use of a hundred bucks'
worth of drinks and sushi.
Finally, the singer
gave the last call and launched into a
particularly mournful tune. Everyone crowded onto the floor except
for them. A short, sturdy Hispanic woman stopped at their table
selling limp roses from a bucket. No one ever buys one, but the
female agent dug into her purse with the serious intent only
a
drunk woman can have. Gravely, she presented her man with a single
red rose.
Rising, equally serious,
he set his prize down on the table and
offered his hand to her. She bowed her head as though accepting
a
humble gift, and rose to enter his embrace on the dance floor.
I swallowed the rest
of my drink and leaned forward. Now we were
getting somewhere.
They danced like a middle-aged
couple, hands loosely clasped, arms
lightly around torsos, and the prescribed two inches between
their
bodies. Okay, we weren't getting anywhere.
The music wound down
softer and softer and that seemed to pull
their bodies closer. She said something and he had to lean over
to
put his ear to her mouth. He chuckled softly at whatever she
said.
The song ended and everyone
stilled on the floor. My couple smiled
at each other.
In disgust, I hurried back to the car, forgetting my free bottle.
Holy Cross Cemetery, Culver City: 2:20 A.M.
This wasn't such a strange
destination. I usually give a drive
through a cemetery about once a week. This couple had a specific
goal, however.
Taking the single red
rose, they staggered up to a grave. Bela
Lugosi, a favorite for rides around Halloween. It wasn't that
season, but I'd already written these two off as odd.
Perhaps because she
was closer to the ground, the woman crouched
to place the flower on the simple marker.
As she rose, he clumsily
kissed her on the lips. They both seemed
frightened by his impulsive act.
I rolled up the window
as they hurried back to the car, feeling
discouraged. I'd been hoping to get rid of them by 6 A.M. and
head
to Denny's for a Grand Slam breakfast. At this pace, we were
going
to be trapped together until Memorial Day.
They slid back into
the rear seat, snatching up the bottle again.
It was empty.
"Oh, dear," she said.
He discovered the refrigerator
and its store of alcohol. Another
two hundred dollars added to the tab, I realized with
satisfaction.
With a pop, he had the
first bottle of champagne open. They both
laughed with delight. I had to get them back in focus.
"Next?" I asked.
Waving his arm dismissively,
the male agent replied, "Once around
the park."
Oh, he *is* a wit. Nevertheless, I headed to Griffith Park.
The Movie: 2:30 A.M.
The woman had discovered
the television and was ignoring the dark
masses of trees in the park. The man sat beside her, his long
fingers writhing in his lap. He looked as though he wanted to
make
some sort of move but didn't know where to start.
She flipped her way
through the channels, seemingly oblivious to
his torment. "Oh, good," she said. "The Parent
Trap!"
Well, it's hardly the
Spice Channel. He was going to have his work
cut out for him.
"The Parent Trap?" He looked as disappointed as I felt.
"Yes, I love this
movie," she rhapsodized, settling back into the
seat, and sipping on her champagne.
Sighing, he sat back
too and crossed his arms, forcing himself to
watch the movie.
After a few minutes,
he asked, "Is this, like, the first chick
flick?"
She raised an eyebrow
and flicked her gaze from the screen to his
petulant face. "Excuse me?"
"The film that
all women cut their film viewing teeth on," he
said.
Ignoring him, she said,
"The first couple of times I saw this, I
really thought the girls were two actresses." With a sloppy
smile,
she added, "I was such a naive kid."
He perked up. "Oh?
How many times have you seen this movie,
Scully?"
She'd been lifting her
glass to her mouth but stopped before
taking a sip. Her eyes tried to shift, but it looked as though
it
might be too painful a maneuver to attempt.
He pressed on. "Double digits?"
Trying to divert him,
she said, "Do you mind? I'm trying to watch
the movie."
He obviously has a one-track mind. "High double digits?"
She finally took her
sip of champagne and didn't answer. Minutes
slipped by. The girls went from enemies to discovering they were
long-separated twins.
He thought of a witty
way to revive the conversation. "That
Maureen O'Hara was such a babe." Oh, keep going, big guy,
let's
see where you take this...
The woman slipped lower
in the seat. All that alcohol had to have
loosened her spine. "Yeah," she agreed. "Back
when movie stars
looked like movie stars."
"What does that mean?" he challenged.
"Nothing!" She shot him an exasperated look.
"I think Tea Leoni
is very attractive," he countered. Keep going,
keep going...you're doing so well.
"I didn't say she
wasn't! If you like that sort of thing--" she
trailed off as she seemed to concentrate even harder on the movie.
The twins had switched places and mayhem was ensuing.
Perhaps he'd given up
all hope of getting laid tonight. His
behavior suggested he had. "Very attractive!" he ranted.
"Tall." She
stretched her short legs out straight and glanced
down at them in discontent. "Her tits were in my face, I
swear."
Fortunately, she was
too inebriated to notice he clapped his hand
over his mouth. Good boy. If you'd said whatever just popped
into
your head at that moment, things would have gotten very ugly.
However, I'm sure I would have been free of them. Damn.
He took a very deep
breath. It seemed to clear his head. "Well,
they did take some artistic license."
"That's for sure,"
she said as she attempted to nod her head.
Instead, it sort of wobbled.
"How much of a
license?" he asked very carefully, his eyes
suddenly bright and sharp in the dark interior.
"Huh?" She was watching the movie again.
"Artistically."
She twisted to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"I realize that
Federman was a hack, but I know he worked closely
with Skinner on this project." He picked at some imaginary
lint on
his pant leg. "And Skinner wouldn't have any reason to embellish
the truth--" He quickly glanced at her. "Wouldn't you
agree?"
Her brow furrowed. Slowly, she replied, "Yes--"
"He wouldn't lie," he stated definitely.
Understanding dawned on her face. "Mulder--"
He gave her a martyr's
face. "Is there something you want to tell
me? It's fine. I mean--"
She began to gasp like an old car laboring up a hill. "Mulder!"
He said nothing, just
continued to look pitiful and righteous in a
painful twist of his features.
Her tone was a warning. He'd better take it back. "Mulder!"
Nothing. It was a stand-off.
"Mulder," she tried one more time.
The last gasp of air
came out in a big whoosh and she flopped back
to stare at the television with her burning gaze. I expected
to
hear a pop of exploding circuits.
Mile after mile rolled
under my tires. The movie droned on.
Maureen was getting her make-over in anticipation of meeting
her
former husband.
The man noisily cleared his throat.
Now it was her turn.
Nothing.
He began to hum.
She noted that her glass
was empty. With an exaggerated motion,
she flung the refrigerator open, banging the door into his knee.
After rummaging around, she yanked out a beer, popping the top
off
with a practiced motion.
"Mulder? Do you mind? I can't hear the movie with all your noise."
"Sorry." He
shot her a weak smile. "Got a song in my head. You
know how that is with me--"
She interrupted. "Oh, I do. Do I ever!"
He must have chosen to ignore the slam.
He began to sing in a soft voice, "If I had a million dollars--"
She didn't respond,
so he plowed on, "If I had a million dollars,
I'd buy you a house--"
Her chin tilted up and
I could see the humor in her eyes. I lost
patience with her. Oh, honey! Stay mad for longer than that!
He
just accused you of two-timing him!
"If I had a million
dollars, I'd buy you furniture for your
house--"
Sure enough, she broke
it, off-key, nonetheless, "Maybe a nice
chesterfield or an ottoman--"
A grin split his face
in half. "If I had a million dollars, I'd
buy you a K-Car--"
She chimed along, "A nice Reliant automobile--"
Quickly, he added, "If
I had a million dollars I'd buy your
love--"
The air suddenly became
electric in the backseat. I'm pretty good
at spotting it. The car slowed as I started to watch my tiny
receiver intently.
She took the tune up,
"If I had a million dollars, I'd buy you
John Merrick's remains--"
He nodded, and went on, "All them crazy elephant bones--"
Now it was her turn.
Softly, she said, "And if I had a million
dollars I'd buy your love--"
He blushed. He actually blushed.
Now it was his turn
to hurry on, "If I had a million dollars, I'd
buy you a monkey." She looked so horrified that he sang,
"Haven't
you always wanted a monkey?" She shook her head, pushing
her lower
lip out to try to appear sad.
He'd shuffled closer to her on the seat without her noticing.
Leaning in, he murmured, "If I had a million dollars, I'd
buy your
love," in a breathy falsetto.
The singing style that
worked for Barry Gibb worked for this guy.
She stared at him, her pretty mouth hanging open.
Then, abruptly, she
looked back at the TV and gasped out, "Oh,
this is my favorite scene. It's so sexy."
Maureen O'Hara was seducing
Brian Keith in the kitchen, needing
his 'help' to unfasten her apron. Pretty clever.
The man wasn't even
looking at the movie. He panted in her ear,
"If I had million dollars--If I had million dollars--If
I had
million dollars--If I had million dollars--"
The woman snapped her
head around and their eyes locked. He
croaked out, "--I'd be rich--"
Just as Maureen moaned,
"It's been so long, so very long--" and
threw herself into Brian's arms, the woman grabbed two handfuls
of
crumbled white shirt and yanked his mouth to hers.
For a brief, ecstatic
moment, I believed the end of my torment was
in sight!
They were rolling around
on the wide backseat like I was driving
them up Laurel Canyon Drive at 80 mph. Their mouths and hands
wouldn't light on any one body part, and the grumbles of yearning
reached a high pitch.
She seemed awfully determined,
but he finally used his larger size
to pin her down, and had her skirt shoved up.
"Wow." He
and I said it in unison. Tiny black panties looked very
good on all that white skin.
I had to laugh. She
planned this whole thing! You can't tell me a
woman would be that well waxed if she didn't expect to lift that
skirt at some point in the evening. And no hose?
He looked smug and pleased
with himself as he dove in, like he'd
actually pulled off some big seduction, kissing and biting at
her
belly.
The small, dirty smile
on her face as she gazed down on his
tousled head confirmed my suspicions.
He must have decided
to play some games. "Agent Scully, have you
ever engaged in sexual activities in the backseat of a limousine?"
he asked, with a touch of a leer.
Got to second base and
he was overconfident already. I bet he gets
tagged out a lot trying to steal bases in the Bureau softball
games.
She swept her hands
through his hair as she lazily draped a slim
leg over his shoulder. "Mmmm...maybe..."
Uh oh. His big hands,
which had been squeezing her breasts through
her dress bodice, stilled. "Oh?"
In her exuberance, she
hadn't caught his tone. "Yes, Mulder. I've
had sex in the back of a limousine..." She shot him that
dirty
smile. "More than once."
It was too early to
be casual about old relationships, dear. His
ego still needed stroking.
As he started to struggle
up, I realized not much was going to get
stroked from now on. I was royally pissed.
He repeated, "Oh."
"Mulder."
He glanced at her quickly
and gave her a rueful grin. "I want the
first time to be a...first. Silly, huh?"
"No, not at all."
Her face made her statement a lie. She'd caught
the ego stroking vibe a bit too late.
As they righted themselves
on the seat, she began to pop the
remaining buttons loose on his shirt. "Got any other ideas?"
she
encouraged as her small hand wormed its way in to caress his
chest.
He shrugged half-heartedly.
"Well...last year...when we were
here...I had a moment...when..."
"Yes--" she gently prodded.
"When I called
your room, and Skinner was in his bathtub...I
wasn't at my computer," he confessed, glancing at her quickly
to
judge her response. She raised an eyebrow. "I was in the
tub too."
"With Skinner?" she asked with a playful flick of her lips.
Furrowing his brow, he said, "No, in my own tub."
She seemed to force the amused expression off her face. "And?"
"It was really
deep...the water, that is--" He gulped. "And your
voice was so sexy on the phone...and you said the words, 'our
own
repressed cannibalistic and sexual fears and desires'--"
The smile was back on
her swollen lips. She leaned in and
whispered in his ear, "And?"
He appeared to swallow
a watermelon before he turned to whisper
back against her lips, "Have you ever engaged in sexual
relations
in a bathtub, Agent Scully?"
"No, Agent Mulder.
I have not," she murmured as she went to kiss
him. But she blinked. And he caught her.
He pulled back. "Awww...Scully!
Is there anything you *haven't*
done?" he whined.
"Excuse me!?"
She seemed to just notice that her skirt was still
bunched up above her panties. She shoved it back down. Bad sign,
big guy.
He bumbled on, "What I mean--"
"I think I know just what you mean!"
Before I could school
my features, she activated the window.
"Driver? Where are we?"
I gasped out, "Glendale, ma'am."
"Is there someplace
we can get some food?" She glanced back at the
man, now slumped in the seat, looking defeated. "I need
some air."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good," she
said as she leaned back in the seat. She kept the
window open and he kept his mouth shut.
Bob's Big Boy: 4:45 A.M.
I watched them through
the large glass windows of the restaurant
as I smoked a couple of cigarettes, leaning against the warm
car
fender. I was still holding out for Denny's and my Grand Slam.
They shoved their food
down and didn't exchange a word. I was sure
they were going to ask me to drive them to separate hotels next.
Instead, when they crawled
back in the car, the male agent asked
me to take them to the observatory in Griffith Park.
"It's closed, sir," I reminded him.
"I know--"
He shot a look at the woman. She was studying her
fingernails. "I've always wanted to see the view. It's supposed
to
be fantastic."
Doubtfully, I peered
out at the smog-filled sky. A few weak stars
shone through. Nevertheless, I replied, "Yes, sir,"
as I pulled
out of the parking lot.
The sky was much clearer
at the top of the hill that held the
glowing observatory. Clients love to come up here and make out,
but I thought he'd pushed his luck one too many times tonight.
I was wrong. While they
gazed out over the city, he draped an arm
around her shoulder as he pointed out the circling police
helicopters. They patrol the city like wasps over a glass of
sweet
tea.
She must have different
romantic standards than me. Within a few
minutes, she was laughing at whatever he was saying, and then
they
were exchanging lingering kisses.
I was losing all hope
for my breakfast, however. With this
stopping and starting, I would never be rid of them.
They slid back into the car.
"Next?"
They exchanged heated
gazes. "I think we should go
somewhere...special. Right, Mulder?" she smoldered at him.
He glowed back. "Yeah," he breathed.
She squinted at her watch, briefly ruining the sexy mood.
She grinned in triumph. "A beach, please."
Comically, his face
fell, then lit back up. He raised an eyebrow
to her. "The beach? You've never--"
She silenced him with
a heavy gaze. "Yes, I have. I want to see
the sun rise."
"Oh." The face had crashed back down.
She leaned in and murmured
as she activated the window. "With
you."
As I drove down towards
the water, they made out in the backseat.
Their frantic energy of an hour ago was gone, replaced by good,
old-fashioned heavy petting.
I put Lenny Kravitz
on my CD player for my own personal background
music to accompany the action. Fairly quickly, the camera lens
was
fogged up, but the sound was still loud and clear.
"I belong to you...And
you...You belong to me too..." The song's a
perfect make-out tune. The pinging percussion beat matched the
turn of my tires, lulling me into a trance.
"But since I've
opened my eyes...And with you there's no
disguise...So I could open up my mind..."
I couldn't make anything
out in the pitch-black backseat through
the obscured lens, but the slippery sounds of mouths on skin
and
groans of the seat springs let my imagination assume that the
runners are barely clinging to the edge of third base.
"I always loved
you from the start...But I could not figure
out...That I had to do it everyday..."
I took the long way
to the beach, to give the male agent some more
time to rethink his stance on the locale for their first time,
but
he apparently wanted to hold fast. A rough chuckle gasped out,
"Nuuu-uh, Scully."
She didn't reply, but
his next words were much more high-pitched
and whining. "Please, Scully!"
She gave a sigh of exasperation,
but must have complied. I punched
the 'repeat' button on the CD player, and turned down the small
alley to access the beach parking lot.
I slowed to a halt and
gave them a few minutes to notice the
vehicle had stopped.
The first blue wash
was across the sky. The sun was coming up
soon.
"So I put away
the fight...Now I'm gonna live my life...Giving you
the most in every way..."
They were still too
distracted to notice the car wasn't moving. I
started the car again, letting it roll a few feet, and then
stomped on the brakes, jolting their mouths apart.
"OH!" they both gasped out in unison.
I was getting tired, of them, and of the situation.
I rolled the window down. "We're here," I said tersely.
After a few moments
taken to rearrange clothing, they fell out
onto the tarmac, giggling maddeningly. They didn't seem to notice
my mood. But who ever cares about the driver?
They dashed across the
sand--or more accurately, tried to. After a
few feet, exhaustion and deep sand slowed their steps, until
they
just gave up. She spread her coat out, and they fell onto it
in an
undignified heap. Our nation's finest, indeed.
My eyes were beginning
to burn for sleep. They huddled together,
actually watching the sunrise.
I glanced at my watch
and shrugged. I'd missed the early special.
I'd have to pay full price on the Grand Slam.
When they ambled back
to the vehicle, I could barely summon the
energy to ask, "Next?"
They exchanged an intense look.
He finally said, slow
and low, "The Beverly Wilshire. And step on
it."
Her face shone up at
him in the early morning golden light and a
wide, soft smile grew across her tired features.
I held the door open
once again and sighed to myself as they slid
into the seat. Must be love, my cynical little heart mocked.
Beverly Wilshire Hotel: 6:30 A.M.
Yes, I should report
them to someone for defrauding the American
taxpayers. Perhaps the IRS will forgive my back taxes from 1978.
My long night catching
up with me, I lean against the car hood as
I glance around for my 'victims'.
There they are. The
male agent is weaving dangerously up to the
front door with his squealing baggage wiggling in his arms...that
room is going to cost a fortune. Something to add to the list.
He'd finally found something she hadn't done.
"Scully, have you
ever been carried through a hotel lobby by a
man, so that every single person in there knows exactly what's
going to happen to you?"
Her eyes had gone wide,
and she'd gasped, "Mulder, don't you
dare!"
I interpreted her words
to really mean, "If you *don't* dare to do
it, Mulder, I'll never respect you as a man."
He was finally able to read between the lines. With triumph,
as he
literally swept her off her feet, he'd said, "I'll take
that as a
no."
Uh oh. A burly bald man has stopped them by the front door.
"Agents?"
"Sir!" they both squeak.
The bald man is wearing
a tuxedo and has a blonde babe on his arm.
If this is government service, they really need to put it in
the
recruiting materials.
No one has said anything.
The blonde looks vacant. The bald man
looks shocked. The couple looks terrified.
Suddenly, the female
agent's expression brightens. The credit card
comes out of the tiny bag faster for him than it did for me.
She
hands it to her superior. "Sir. Here. Sir."
"Thank you, Agent Scully," he says formally as he nods to them.
The male agent must
take that as some sort of signal. With one
last squeal from the woman, he whirls and pushes them through
the
revolving door.
I'm amazed. He neither
decapitates nor drops her. He must want it
bad to be able to concentrate that well at this hour. He may
be up
for this yet.
The bald man is at my
side. Now that he's close, I can smell the
alcohol on him and his date. "Is this car for hire?"
My heart sinks, but my good judgement remembers my mortgage.
"Yes, sir," I reply as I hold the door open.
I get back in my seat
and roll the dividing window down. "Where
to, sir?"
He exchanges guilty/dangerous
glances with the giggling blonde.
Giving me a wide grin, he says, "Las Vegas, and step on
it!"
**The End
MORE AUTHOR'S NOTES:
1) Was I the
only one thinking, 'Hey, Scully! Those are my tax
dollars!'? But the 'shipper in me thinks it's a better use than
building bombs.
2) For non-baseball
playing readers, First Base is kissing, Second
base is groping, and Third Base can be everything up to, but
not
including actual intercourse, depending on who's trying to
convince whom. This being a PG-13 fic, I didn't write the Home
Run.
3) Musical
credits: If 'I Had $1,000,000' by Bare Naked Ladies,
and 'I Belong to You' by Lenny Kravitz.