Exposure Season 1 e-1

by Tonya Muir

  Harper leans back giving me her trademark smirk as she lifts her wineglass to her lips. "Yeah, I figured as much. Truth hurts doesn’t it, Kels?"

  God, I hate this woman.

  Harper smiles at my silence and runs a finger along the rim of her glass. "Don’t worry, Kels. Your secret’s safe with me."

  Thankfully, Erik returns. Apparently, he heard the last of her words. "What secret is that?" he asks amicably as he takes his seat beside me. "Alexander says hello."

  I look over to where the meaty man is leering at me and give him a meek smile and a slight wave. He grins and winks before turning his attention back to his own group and I’m grateful. I only feel able to handle one problem at a time.

  "The secret about Kels being gay and your relationship being a sham," Harper says helpfully. I’d been hoping his question would be dropped. I should have known better.

  Erik hesitates a moment too long as he meets my gaze. I can’t blame him, I know that he’s trying to see if I’ve admitted as much to this woman. When he sees no such indication, he turns back to Harper and is grinning slightly.

  "I understand why you would want her to be gay, Ms. Kingsley. Who wouldn’t want Kelsey? What I don’t understand is how people can jump to conclusions that are so obviously incorrect." He leans forward while wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I can assure you that Kelsey is absolutely heterosexual," Erik raises an eyebrow suggestively. "I have the scratches on my back to prove it."

  Well, okay. That may have been over the top but inside I’m grinning. Harper seems temporarily stymied but I can tell she’s not completely convinced. She gracefully changes the subject when Veronica ... Sparky ... whoever the hell she is returns from the facilities.

  Sliding out to let her date into the booth, she moves a large tanned hand over the other woman’s body with more than a hint of possessiveness. "So, how are the restrooms in a swank place like this?"

  Sparky’s eyes seem to shine as she grins. "There was music playing in there! And a woman handing out towels. I used some of the perfume they had by the sink." She offers her wrists to Harper to smell. The tall woman obliges, taking a nip of the skin as well, making her companion blush and her eyes go dark with desire.

  Ugh. There goes my libido again.

  "Good choice of wines," Erik compliments, trying to get back to mundane chit-chat. Thank God, it works.

  Shortly, our meals come and we eat them with minimal conversation. Harper seems to have turned her attention from torturing me to teasing her date. The heat coming from the other side of the table is almost smothering.

  Despite my silent pleas and dagger looks, Erik orders dessert, dragging this meal out longer than necessary. I, of course, decline. I’m not the bottomless pit he seems to be and everything I eat manages to find its way to my hips in no time flat. Sparky and Harper appear to be closer to Erik’s constitution and they each order something sweet to finish the meal. I satisfy myself with a cup of tea.

  Finally, we are waiting for the check and I excuse myself to use the restroom. Sparky’s friend hands me a towel and I freshen up before stepping out into the short hallway off the front entrance.

  It’s dark and out of direct view of the main restaurant and this provides some excellent cover. Suddenly, I’m pressed up against the wood paneling behind me and my eyes meet the dark lapels of an Armani. Slowly, my eyes scan up a well-muscled column of a tanned neck, past full lips, to sparkling blue jewels.

  Harper is pressing me fully into the wall, I can feel her body hot and firm against me. She parts my legs with one of hers and raises it as much as she can given the length of my dress. She makes up for the restriction by tilting her hips and making sound contact with me. Oh, God.

  Her breath is laced with wine and I wonder if she’s had too much. I also wonder, idly, if I’ll actually stop her should she try to pursue anything. (As if this isn’t pursuing anything.) The feeling of her against me is exquisite, those hooded luminous eyes captivating. It’s times like these that I regret my lifestyle choice.

  She moves her leg slowly, rubbing against me, causing tingles to run up and down my spine. I know, in the part of my brain that’s still functioning, that I need to make a decision to let her in or push her out. I realize there is no reason, aside from the obvious and raging lust, to let her in on my well-kept secret. This rationalization wins out. Logic always does.

  "Get off of me," I grit out between my teeth, raising my hands and pushing at her broad shoulders. "I think you’ve had too much to drink, Harper."

  "I’ve had just enough," she disagrees with a smile. But she is moving away from me. Thank God. Another few seconds and my resolve would have crumbled. It has been far too long since I got laid.

  My body is cold without her against it and I shiver involuntarily. This only makes her grin broader.

  She runs a hand up my body from waist, over my breast, along my jawline, to brush against my cheek. "Some day, Kels. And, I promise you, I won’t leave you wanting." Then, with a wink and a leer, Harper disappears into the women’s restroom, leaving me panting and helpless with the wall as my only support.

  I push away from the paneling and straighten my dress. It’s all I can do to collect Erik with a minimum of words and no explanation to Sparky before we are on the sidewalk. We head towards the Mercedes where it waits patiently on the curb half a block away.

  "What happened?" Erik asks, his arm around my shoulders, his voice confused.

  I shake my head, not wishing to talk about it even to my best friend. Not sure that I can talk about it.

  "I didn’t even pay, Kels. We ran out and stuck her with the check."

  "Good," I say and I mean it. She deserves it. She’s such a confident, pompous bitch. How in the hell did I get into this mess?

  Erik opens my door and settles me comfortably in the passenger side before trotting around to slide behind the wheel. "Kelsey, you know I love you," he says as he pulls away, starting our short drive home. There’s a ‘but’ coming, I know it. "But," he doesn’t disappoint me, "you are a different person around her. What is it about her? I know she’s a cad and shameless, but you’re above that, honey. Why does it eat at you so?"

  I shrug my shoulders and settle more deeply into my leather seat.

  "You don’t want to talk about it?"

  I shake my head. He catches the movement out of the corner of his eyes and he nods.

  "Okay. But if you do, you know I’m here."

  I reach over and pat his knee. I do know that.

  It’s just too hard to admit that I don’t know whether to rip her clothes off or kill her.

  Episode Six: Clueless

  I sit behind my desk doing my best to forget last night. Dinner wasn’t so damn bad – in fact, it was kinda fun watching Kelsey squirm - it was what happened after.

  I shuffle a stack of tapes from one side of my desk to the other as the memories come back to me.

  There I was blissfully enjoying the natural wonders of Victoria (I can remember her name when I focus) when it happened. Right in the middle of what should have been one of the most incredible experiences of Victoria’s life, Kelsey Stanton’s face and voice came into my mind and I couldn’t shake them. It was all I could do to keep from yelling her name.

  It was that comment Kelsey made to me about staying out of ‘my bedroom.’ Not ‘our bedroom’, but ‘my bedroom’. Oops, told on yourself, Kels. I chuckle as I move to the file cabinet and try to get it organized. I glance through the large plate glass window to my office and watch as Kels makes her grand entrance. Good God, she is attractive. Why does she have to be such a pain in the ass?

  I notice she’s dressed down today: tailored slacks and a very nice, silky, blue blouse. Hmm, must be a tad cold in the hallway. I grin again as I shake my head and stick my head back in my file cabinet; it’s wonderful to have good eyesight. There’s a knock on the door before it opens. Franklin Saunders, the General Manager, comes in without waiting for an invitation and closes the door
behind him.

  "Good morning, Harper."

  "Good morning, Big Boss. What can I do for you?" Saunders is over Chambers, who is the News Director. He is older and fatter. This is how you can tell the two apart.

  "Harper," he begins as he drops himself down on the couch that lines the wall across from my desk. "Do you have any experience with undercover camera work?"

  Well, there are a thousand different smart ass answers to that one, but I’ll play it safe and assume he’s talking about work. I close the file cabinet and lean against it with my arms crossed. "Yeah, I know how to be discreet. You got something in mind?"

  "I got an insider tip this morning about some serious drug dealing going on in one of the local high schools, one of the more elite ones, you know. With white kids."

  My eyes narrow at this blatant racist remark. "You know, my parents moved from Louisiana for exactly that reason."

  He is confused. "What?" Then he smiles knowingly, like we’re in the same club or something. "Oh, to be around better people."

  "Yes, exactly," I agree, but not for the same reasons. "Dr. King was a good friend to my parents before his murder. And I grew up calling Ms. Parks my favorite adopted grandmother."

  Saunders looks perplexed, then angry as what I have said sinks in.

  I’m not a member of your club, buddy. I don’t even use white cotton sheets on my bed. Always preferred flannel, or satin, depending on the activities planned. That is another story, however.

  And I’ve hardly warmed up to this one. "I’m named after Harper Lee, the novelist. She wrote about the wrongful conviction and murder of a man whose only crime was being born with the wrong color skin. My family has been in Louisiana longer than Louisiana has been in the United States. My parents love New Orleans because it is such a wonderful blend of cultures and people. But, when the South grappled with issues of racial justice in the Sixties, my parents moved to Birmingham, at Dr. King’s personal request, to be on the front lines. I don’t think I realized I was white, or a girl, until I was old enough to know that neither of them meant shit if I wasn’t a decent human being first and foremost." I stare long and meaningfully at him.

  "I didn’t mean it that way," he mutters. "And I don’t even care that you’re a dyke. But I don’t think that voting for Prop 109 was the wrong thing to do."

  Prop 109 was a recent California ballot proposal that cut off access to all public services by illegal immigrants. Somehow or another the lawmakers and a number of California citizens actually believed that not having a green card was a good enough reason to let little kids die without medical assistance.

  "And I don’t care that you’re a homophobic racist who will be in need of long-term physical therapy if you ever say something like that to me again. But let’s not go there. Okay, Boss?" I place just enough emphasis on the last word to get my own dig in.

  Saunders clears his throat and resumes his mantle of authority. Apparently, I’m not fired for saying what I just said. Almost wish I were. " I want you and Kelsey to go in to the high school and see what you can find out about the drugs."

  "You got it." We don’t have to like each other to work together. This I know from long experience.

  He’s happier now that we’re talking about the story again. "Apparently there’s a pretty major dealer in that school somewhere and I’d really like to see us take him out of there. It’d be great for the ratings."

  "And for the kids too," I can’t resist adding. "I may need some new equipment." Typically, in this type of situation, I use a minicam, a tape deck, several battery packs, and a directional pen mike. The minicam looks like a pager, so it’s easy to wear without raising suspicion. I clip it on my belt and just turn my body toward the subject. The camera has a wire running to the tape deck for recording sound and image, which I run under my shirt and into a backpack I carry with the batteries and tape deck. The directional pen mike is exactly what it sounds like – a microphone shaped like a fat fountain pen. When I do these types of shoots, I merely affect the nervous habit of playing with my pen, thereby pointing it where it needs to be to catch the conversation. The pictures aren’t gorgeous, but they have good resolution and they’ll play in prime time.

  "No problem. Just tell Chambers what you need."

  "I’ll get a list together for him then. I need to speak with Kels. We need to figure out how to get her in there, without her being recognized."

  "I wondered about that myself. Do you think it can be done?"

  I grin as I look into Kels’ office across the hall. She’s sipping her tea, reading through a file. It’s then that an evil idea pops into my head. "Oh yeah," I say to Saunders as I turn for the door. "I think I know a way."

  Saunders pulls himself up from my couch and follows me out the door, patting me on the back. "I’ll leave in your capable hands then," he says as he peels off to go back to his office, hiding from the explosion he knows I’m about to cause.

  "Yeah, I know you will, you phobic, racist, chicken shit," I mumble as I knock on the door of Kels’ office. Don’t want her to think I’m a complete barbarian.

  "Come," she yells from the other side.

  Oh, well, now that’s just too good to pass up. I fling the door open. With my arms held wide, I step in, leering at her. "I thought you’d never ask."

  She looks up with a truly bored expression on her face then drops her head back to her file. "Go to hell."

  I drop my arms and cross her office, perching on the corner of her desk looking down at her. "Ah, come on, Kels, I thought you were offering." I swear she mumbles something to the effect of ‘Not in your lifetime.’ But I’m not sure.

  Straight, my ass. I think this may become my new meditation mantra. Now all I need to do is take up meditation.

  "Why is everything about sex with you, Harper?" Kelsey asks.

  I shrug, "Probably for the same reason nothing is about sex with you, Kels." She doesn’t reply. I didn’t think she would. She’s terrified of the truth: We’re more alike than she cares to admit. I continue, "Okay, partner in the non-sexual sense, here’s the deal: Do you own a pair of blue jeans and a T-shirt?"

  "What kind of dumb ass question is that?" She looks up and leans into her high back leather chair. I gotta talk to Chambers about getting one of those. "Of course, I own a pair of jeans and a T-shirt." She sips her tea as she stares at me.

  Is that a little curiosity I see in those eyes, Kels? Seems she knows how to unbutton a button or two of her own; I can feel her mentally undressing me.

  I clear my throat, trying to shake that image. "We have a new assignment and it’s going to require a little dressing down on your part."

  "What’s that supposed to mean?"

  * * *

  Standing at the registration desk I try to hide my smirk as Kels fidgets next to me. I glance her direction, as I take her in. During a quick stop at the local WalMart (I can’t even begin to describe the fun it was to take her there), we picked up a Ricky Martin T-shirt. I then had to threaten her with bodily harm if she didn’t trade her designer polo for it (our ideas of ‘dressing down’ are apparently not in sync). She can now almost pass for an 18-year old high-school student.

  It was when I reached around to pull her hair back that my suspicions were confirmed. As my fingertips innocently – I swear - grazed her neck while pulling back her hair, I felt her pulse quicken. It was a nice feeling. I was glad to have caused it.

  The clerk lays the registration papers in front of me. "What relationship are you to the student?"

  I smirk as I notice Kels isn’t paying close attention to my conversation. "I’m her probation officer." I catch a slight bristle from Kels as she slowly turns to face me.

  The clerk looks to Kels and back to me. "This is unusual."

  "Yes, it is, but the court ordered that Miss Dumb Ass…"

  Kels cuts my off with a glare that would knock a lesser person into next week. "It’s Doo-maas, you primate."

  I turn to her and grin, then ch
eck the paper I am holding in my hand. "Hmmm. D- u – m – a – s. Looks like a ‘dumb-ass’ to me. And you know what they say: ‘If it looks like a dumb ass and it sounds like a dumb ass, it’s probably a dumb ass."

  The woman is eyeing us warily. "I need to get the Principal for this. Would you two take a seat over there, please?" The registrar points to a wooden bench placed beneath a bulletin board.

  I give a flourish with my arm, "After you, Miss …"

  "Just shut the fuck up, Harper."

  I love life. Sometimes, I really, really do. "Hey, look, Kels, there’s a dance this weekend."

  All I get for my effort is a sullen stare.

  "Come on, buck up, Little Roo."

  She turns her green eyes on me and I feel a little bit of my heart melt. Damn, she’s good. No wonder they made her an anchor. "Why probation officer?" she asks.

  "Well, it would have been a bit cliché for me to come in as a gym teacher, chér." I give my most charming smile, which is, I admit, quite charming. "Besides, we don’t know if someone in the administration is in on the sourcing. Trust no one, right?"

  "We aren’t the X-Files, Harper."

  "I dunno. They’re partners and not sleeping together either." I slide a little closer to her on the bench. "But everyone wants them to."

  "Once they sleep together, the ratings will go down. Look at Maddie and David on ‘Moonlighting.’ And I know how much you value ratings."

  This I find highly amusing. "Oh my God, you still remember their characters’ names! You must really have had a thing for Cybill Shepherd." I laugh a bit more, ignoring my partner’s discomfort, noting the lack of denial for the object of her affection. "Personally, I like cute, short blondes."

  She is forming a retort when the registrar appears before us. "Principal Downey will see you now."

  Saved by the bell, so to speak.

  * * *

  We’re sitting in Algebra II. Kelsey is seated in the second to last row, next to the windows. I’m sitting further back, at the teacher’s desk. The principal agreed to admit Kels without too much of a fuss. Apparently, a couple other kids here came back to school that way. It’s California’s way of getting serious about probation. All juvie offenders have to be escorted for their first 60 days out. This puts an unimaginable strain on the probation officers, but it does seem to be having some effect on juvenile recidivism.