Disclaimers in part 01
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"Most real relationships are involuntary."
~~Iris Murdoch, from "The Sea, The Sea"~~
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FRIDAY, JUNE 30, 2000
GEORGE WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
DEBORAH'S ROOM
1:30 P.M.
LANGLY:
Wonder what the guys are up to, and if they actually met up with Fletcher. I'm going crazy not knowing. We're busy getting Deb ready to go home because she finally got sprung. They pulled her IV line out about half an hour ago, and she's waiting for her paperwork.
I'm real glad Deb gets to go home, but even better is that her parents are leaving tomorrow. I hate leaving her alone with them, but I've had more than I can take of the SJ's. I'm supposed to go to this party tonight at the consulate. I asked Deb if she minded, and she told me I should go, take a break.
My only idea of a break right now is a long nap, with no parents and nobody chasing us. Fat chance of that.
DEBORAH'S APARTMENT
3:07 P.M.
LANGLY:
Deb is now a free woman, or at least, she's been sprung from the hospital. I get the unsettling feeling that real freedom comes when her folks leave for Louisiana.
Mulder insisted we go home with one of the Fibbies, which was both good and bad. Bad because I'd really have liked to take Deb home by myself and get her all tucked in and everything. Good because if there's someone else around, her folks try to be civilized. They don't get all over each other, and, more importantly, they stay off my case.
Less than 24 hours to go before I can dump them at the airport. Fortunately, Deb works a lot of holidays, so maybe we won't have to deal with them for Christmas. I'm tempted to tell her to sign up for Thanksgiving and Christmas just to avoid them. She's a fellow now, and in spite of her impossible hours, she's crawling higher up the food chain.
Of course, now that I'm in her apartment with the folks and all, I recognize that the car ride was a reprieve. They started arguing the second we got out of the car, and it hasn't let up at all since. Deb got tired just from coming home and watching her folks go at it. I have no idea how she survived growing up with this. I help get her snuggled in with her stuffed critters. Her folks aren't taking their eyes off me, but Deb glares over at them.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Ringo for a moment," she says, all sharp.
"Gerard, we do need to pack," Mrs. SJ says. She turns to Deb again. "We'll be back in an hour, sweetie."
That's just about the time I have to leave anyway, since I'm getting dragged to this soiree at the consulate tonight. Don't get me wrong. Devi's awesome, and her parties are a blast, I'm sure. I just feel like crawling in bed and collapsing. Maybe the guys won't notice if I don't go. I don't like strangers, anyway.
Deb looks like she's asleep for a while, but then she opens her eyes. "Are they gone?"
"Yeah, they're gone. For now."
"Thank God." She blinks again. "I love them dearly, Ringo, and they mean well, but I'm so glad they're leaving tomorrow."
You're not the only one, I think, but I don't say it. "You okay?" I stroke her hair. Kinda greasy, but mine's been worse. I mean, it's not like anything's nesting in it.
She shakes her head. "No. I'm not." She's got the tears in her eyes again. Oh shit, not the waterworks. What am I going to do?
"Uh... like... you want me to wash your hair or something?" I ask, not knowing what else to do.
She bursts into tears. "Oh, could you?"
I give her a hug. "Yeah, I think I can handle that."
She's still crying when I start off, and I get shampoo and water everywhere, but by the time I'm done, she's a lot calmer, and really tired. Probably just as well I'm not staying here tonight.
She looks up at me. "Ringo, thanks for being here for me."
"Why? It's my job, isn't it?" I mean, she's my girlfriend. I'm supposed to do that, right?
"That's not the point. I know my folks aren't the easiest people to get along with, but you did so well with them."
Fooled me, but we'll leave it at that. I take praise wherever I can get it. "I think you'd better get some sleep now," I say to her, helping her back in bed. She's asleep before I get out the door.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
SRI LANKAN CONSULATE
8:27 P.M.
BYERS:
"How many people did you say were coming?" I ask Sari as we enter the consulate. I was expecting a crowd, but nothing like what's before me.
"I honestly have no idea." Sari laughs. "Mom was born to entertain. She loves a good party. Devi comes by her talents honestly."
My brain is swimming from the sheer multitude invading the place. The consulate is immense, built for large scale entertaining, but this boggles my mind. Every inch of floor space seems occupied. Langly is standing to my left.
"I don't think there're this many people in Saltville," he mumbles.
Frohike snorts lightly. "Are you kidding? All of DC doesn't have this many people when Congress isn't in session."
Sari laughs. "You won't have to look too far to find a Congresscritter or two here."
"Most likely at the bar -- which I'm going to find." Frohike steps into the mob. Langly remains close to me, clearly exhausted. He's thinking about following Frohike, but he's suddenly accosted by Devi. Devi is not known for visual subtlety -- there's a reason Sari refers to her as Magpie -- but tonight, the blind would notice her in the strong turquoises, deep golden yellows, and fierce scarlet of her outfit. Apparently feeling the garment was insufficiently dramatic, she's added large quantities of colorful jewelry. I'm sure the stones are the real thing. Being married to the Consul General means she can afford the genuine article. On anyone else, the effect would be downright tacky, but this is Devi, and she wears it well.
I'm not a physical person by nature or upbringing, but when Devi plants a solid kiss on each cheek, it feels warm and natural, and I don't flinch. To my surprise, neither does Langly. She stands back from him, his face still in her hands, and observes him critically. All the while, she never so much as tilts her wineglass.
"You look like you haven't slept in a week."
"I haven't."
"Well, if this gets too much for you, there are guest rooms on the second floor and off to the left. Feel free to use one of them."
"Uh, thanks." He's almost incoherent at this point. One drink and he'll pass out, guaranteed. "I think I'm gonna check out the buffet table."
"A wise choice," Sari nods. Once he's gone, she says, "He's not looking good. He hasn't eaten much this week, has he?"
"Well, after Frohike drugged his food, I think he got paranoid about eating. Obviously, he has nothing to fear from Devi. I just hope he stays conscious long enough for us to make contact."
I scan the room, trying to pick out our wunderkind, Sean O'Casey, but no one I see resembles the photo I've seen of him. "I don't see him anywhere."
Sari laughs. "Do you seriously believe Sean would be here on time? He's the sort that needs to make an Entrance. Trust me, he'll be late, but he'll be here."
"I certainly hope so. We really need his help, and I'm praying this isn't the night he decides he needs to stay in his room, smoke every illegal substance known to God and man, and contemplate his navel."
"He'll be here. Sean won't miss a good party. He'll just bring his recreational substances with him."
I shudder at the idea. This room is loaded with... everyone. Hilda and Mark Thomas seem to have friends of every race, ethnic group, economic background, religious belief and political persuasion. I recognize two well-known political pundits speaking with each other. One is so far to the left that Marx would blink; the other is the head of a notoriously conservative think tank. I'd assume a discussion of this nature would come to blows, but their conversation appears lively, animated, and friendly. The room is filled with what would have been called 'good vibes' back in the 60s.
"Is there anyone your parents don't know?" I ask her, only partially kidding.
"Well, some of these folks are friends of mine or Devi's, but my folks don't know you yet, and it's time we remedied that." She puts her arm in mine and leads me over to a tall, buxom woman with honey blonde hair who is currently talking to a thinner but equally tall Hispanic woman.
"Mom," Sari calls out. The blonde woman extracts herself from the conversation and hurries over to her daughter, wrapping Sari warmly in her arms. She's dressed in a beautifully embroidered maroon silk skirt and cream silk shirt -- the style is Indian, if I'm not mistaken -- and a great deal of colorful jewelry. She jingles when she moves. She's a little more subtle, but I can see where Devi got her character. And her fashion sense.
"Sari, liebling, I'm so happy to see you!" she says, in a slightly German-accented voice. Hilda manages the embrace without tipping her wine glass, just like Devi. "And you must be John!" I'm treated to the same embrace she offered her daughter. "I've heard so much about you! What a pleasure to finally meet you!"
I eye Sari quizzically; I know she and her parents are close, but I have no idea what she's said to them about me. She's usually the soul of discretion.
Hilda sees my confusion and says, "Most of what I've heard is from Devi." She laughs. "Thank the gods not everyone in the family believes that discretion is the better part of valor. Although we do wish Sari had let us know sooner about that unehelich abscheulich ex-son-in-law of ours." She makes a distasteful face, but the light and laughter quickly returns. "I can't thank you enough for what you did for Sari."
I find myself blushing. "It's what we do, Dr. Thomas."
She shakes her head, waving her free hand. "To be technical, that would be Frau Doktor Professor Thomas, or you can call me Hilda. I'd really prefer Hilda."
"It's a pleasure to meet you Do -- ah, Hilda," I say, smiling.
She grins back at me. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe I require a refill." Hilda begins to make her way toward the bar, but stops to chat with everyone on the way. Getting a drink appears to be an involved procedure for her.
"Let's find my dad," Sari says. We wend our way through the crowd, and I watch for Sean as we move. I'm introduced to at least a dozen people whose names I'll never remember.
Still no sign of our contact, but that will have to wait; Sari is tapping the arm of a tall, distinguished man with long, thick salt and pepper hair drawn back in a ponytail. He's clad in khakis, a blue button down shirt covered by a worn tweed jacket with leather arm patches, and Birkenstock sandals with socks. Before Sari says a word, I know that this is her father. They share the same facial features, the same grey eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, but the most striking thing about him is the same serene gestalt that his elder daughter has.
Dr. Thomas turns and embraces his daughter warmly. His calm, quiet demeanor is a sharp contrast to his wife's exuberant gaiety, but he shares her affectionate nature. I'm beginning to understand why Sari is so physically affectionate with everyone.
"Dad, this is John Byers," she indicates me. "This is my dad, Mark."
"Dr. Thomas, a pleasure." He has a firm, dry handshake. While he's obviously a quiet man, he's not the least bit ill at ease in this environment.
"Please, call me Mark. We're not very formal, and it gets confusing when Hilda and I are in close proximity," he says with a soft, mellow smile; the same smile I so love seeing on Sari. "Let me take this opportunity to thank you for helping our daughter. I've been able to sleep much better ever since, knowing that she's out of danger."
I blush again. "It was no trouble at all, sir." This isn't true, of course, but the risks were worth it, personally as well as professionally. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Sari looks at me.
"Nonsense," Mark says, his brow wrinkling. "I understand you were hospitalized, and could have been blinded or even killed by the blow that bastard dealt you. You risked your life for my daughter, and I won't ever forget that. I hope you're fully recovered from the incident?"
I nod, caught in my social white lie. I have the feeling that the man rarely forgets anything important. "Yes, thank you."
"Devi says that you're a journalist," he continues, saving me further embarrassment.
I nod again, glad to change the subject. "Yes, my associates and I do investigative work. We were working on the Pinck story when I met Sari..."
FROHIKE:
It's a shame I can't take full advantage of the bar. Under any other circumstances, I'd be sampling each of the Scotches available. There are at least a dozen exquisite single malts, and ten blends. Unable to indulge my whims because of my responsibilities tonight, I stick to my usual J&B, but it's largely a prop. Damn.
I console myself by enjoying the view. There are lovelies here of all ages, shades, and sizes. I'd really prefer Mel's company, but she's in Pennsylvania. Still, just because you've ordered dinner doesn't mean you can't read the menu, and there's a feast for the eyes here. No sign of Sean the Physics-boy, though. I hate it when I have to work while there's such a wealth of beauty present.
I decide to explore the wonders of the buffet table. There's enough food here to feed several Third World nations, all of it impeccably presented. It smells delicious. I can understand why Devi's parties are legendary. At most parties I attend, on the rare occasions I do, the main attraction is the stripper, who usually looks a lot better after ingesting far too much booze. I doubt there are any strippers working here tonight, but I'd bet money there are women who engage in that line of work in attendance. There's no lack of representation of anything here; I don't see why sex workers wouldn't be included.
I smile at a buxom woman in a tight teal silk dress that leaves precious little to my already overworked imagination, but my view is suddenly blocked by my blonde partner in crime. I'm amazed at how little he's carrying on his plate. Normally, Langly requires two plates and both hands, and watching him maneuver is nothing short of terrifying, but this has hardly been a normal week for him. There's only a little food on one single plate, and plenty of open space.
"I don't think he's gonna show," Langly grumbles.
"He'll show." I'm reassuring myself as much as him. If O'Casey decides to ditch, we're royally screwed.
"Yeah, well, he'd better show soon. I'm fucking exhausted and I don't feel like waiting all night." Langly's condition has made him even more snappish and unreasonable than usual.
"Devi told you that you could use one of the guest rooms."
Langly snorts. "Oh yeah, right. Like I'm gonna go crash and then never hear the end of it from you dudes for bailing out."
I lay a hand on his arm and he flinches. "Listen, man. You're beyond burnt. You wanna take advantage of Devi's offer, I say go for it. Byers and I can handle it."
He looks mildly hurt at the idea that we could manage without him for a few hours, but he's so dragged out that he sets down his plate. "I'll get the laptop from Byers and take it up with me," he says, then wanders off into the crowd to look for our erstwhile companion.
In the meantime, I'm keeping a sharp eye out for the young Dr. O'Casey -- while enjoying the view, of course.
9:50 P.M.
BYERS:
I'm not a very social creature, but I've had the opportunity to speak with some fascinating and delightful people tonight. I'm surprised at my lack of awkwardness. I'm not sure what it is, but I feel quite at ease here. If I weren't waiting for our contact, I would just relax and enjoy the rest of the evening. Langly stops by briefly to get my laptop and let me know that he's heading for a bedroom upstairs.
"It's about time," I tell him.
"Shut up," he snaps. I let him leave without further comment.
Mark Thomas circulates my way again, and we discuss more particulars of the Pinck incident. He then asks me about our current investigation, which I confess leaves me feeling nervous. I'm not sure how much to disclose at this point, since I'm not even certain what we're dealing with. Fortunately, I'm saved by a petite, attractive woman in a dark navy business suit, her hair styled in a short blonde bob. She's probably an executive or a lawyer.
"Mark, good to see you," she says, shaking his hand.
"And you, Wendy," he says warmly. "I'd like you to meet a friend of my daughter's. This is John Byers. He's a journalist. John, Gwendolyn Barnett Banks."
"Journalists. I've met a few of those," she says, laughing. "A pleasure. Please call me Wendy. People can tell by looking at me that I'm a WASP. I don't want to drive the point home." She reeks of old money and lineage, probably DAR, yet there's nothing that suggests she takes herself with the ponderous seriousness of your typical blue blood.
"How's business, Wendy?" Mark asks her politely.
She laughs heartily. "As long as there are politicians, business will be good. And last time I checked, this town still suffered from far too many of them. If only the taxpayers knew where their dollars were really going. Anyway, I'm headed for the bar." She taps her empty beer bottle. "Nice meeting you, John."
Mark turns to me as she turns away. "Wendy runs the ultimate high class call girl ring in DC. She decided translating Chinese didn't pay enough, so she found something that did. At any rate, she keeps our legislators amused, which should count for something. She's old money. Her family's Barnett Oil. I daresay the service she provides is more honest and less environmentally damaging than that of the rest of her family."
I confess to being a bit shocked, but simply nod. Mark is not the least bit fazed by her unconventional occupation; why should I be?
Mark is about to inquire further into our activities when we're interrupted by a rumble in the crowd. Considering the previous noise level, it's nearly ear shattering. Apparently someone long awaited has arrived.
After a moment, I understand why. I believe our contact is here.
End part 13