Work Text:
Gloria
by MJ
mjr91@aol.com
("Gloria, you're always on the run now
Running after somebody, you gotta get him somehow
I think you've got to slow down before you start to blow it.
I think you're headed for a breakdown, so be careful not to show it.
You really don't remember, was it something that he said?
Are the voices in your head calling, Gloria?"
-- "Gloria," Laura Branigan)
She sets aside the book she has been reading. Umberto Eco is like dinner at L'Ajourdhui - having tasted once, one must go back, but not too often, as it is too rich to handle on a regular basis. She should turn out the bedside lamp and go to sleep - but no, he's shifting, about to wake up, as he always does.
He's surprisingly considerate - perhaps to a fault. He stays awake after sex, perhaps as long as half an hour or forty minutes. He can carry on a conversation after orgasm, nearly coherently, and he holds her while they talk. Sometimes he manages to nudge holding her into starting over again, and, while he's no twenty-year-old, and he doesn't usually "rise to the occasion," he's perfectly willing to focus all of his attention on bringing *her* off again. He's caring, considerate, charming, intelligent, funny, great in bed... and emotionally blocked, and there's someone else, too, damn him.
Her lace thong is on the floor. He likes the thongs - he managed to bite one off of her hips a few weeks ago to get her out of them so he could keep his head directly between her legs and - damn the man, he's the fracking world champion at going down on a woman, it's ridiculous. She pays a small fortune for them, they're expensive even on a judge's salary (or, to be honest, especially on a judge's salary; she'd have made more money staying in private practice), but they work for him. For a while, anyway, because she knows what's coming next. He wakes up, always, around now, and then it happens.
He slides out from under the sheets and ducks into her bathroom; he's out in a moment, back on the bed, and kissing her neck. "Sorry, Gloria, I need to go. I need to get another suit and a clean shirt for the morning."
"And then you're going over to his place."
"We've *talked* about this." He's locating his clothing and pulling it on. There's nothing worse than being in bed and watching a man dress, when it's not first thing in the morning. It smacks of being a whore, watching a john leave. She may be many things, but she's not a whore. "I love going to bed with you." What he doesn't say is that he loves her. That stings. "I love *waking up* with him."
He's like Eco's writing, like dinner at L'Ajourdhui. She wants him more than she should have him. There are things not to be had on a regular basis. He is one of them. Too bad about common sense. Unlike rich food, he doesn't have calories. She wants him around.
And she's about to say the wrong thing. She can feel the wrong words forming on her lips, forcing their way out. "You can't have both. You're going to have to pick one of us eventually."
He fastens his cuffs. Even leaving her condo at 1:30 in the morning, he'll depart almost perfectly groomed. Except for the tie. His shirt will be open at the neck, the tie carefully rolled and in his pocket. He takes care of his ties the way others take care of a Lamborghini. Of course, considering who buys them for him and what they cost, the comparison is extremely close. "I won't even let him make me do that, although he seems quite complacent about it. And I'm not going to let you make me do that."
He's dressed. She sits up again; he kisses her. "I have to go. Pick you up at the courthouse for dinner?"
"Of course." She should say no, she should protest, but she can't. It's embarrassing. How long can she handle this? She knows she's being ridiculous. She can't make a life outside of her job with a man who leaves almost every night for another man's bed. Why does she keep allowing herself to try it with him? It's not going to work. She'll go insane first.
And it's not as if people don't *know* about him and Crane. It's been courthouse rumor for a couple of years. God only knows what they're saying about her now - probably that she's sleeping with both of them. As far as she knows, Alan's the only one sleeping with two people - not that Crane's reputation wouldn't allow for a dozen at a time. Until Alan, though, most of the stories about Crane only involved women... though a couple of the older judges she's met have said something about Crane and that irritating prick Lewiston - ugh.
He lets himself out of her bedroom, and then she hears her condo door shut behind him. She turns off the bedside lamp and pulls the covers up to her chin. She's a modern woman, it's the 21st Century; isn't she supposed to be big enough for this? But she's not. Her mother had encouraged her to be herself, to be independent - her mother had been on the front lines of working for women attorneys to earn comparable salaries with their male counterparts at the larger firms in her home town, before she'd married and moved to Boston. Her mother was, is, a feminist; she's always thought that she is. But her unregenerate Christian-submissive-female aunt's voice - the one that said she should always lose at games so the boys could win and like you better - is the one that's in her ear. If you want a man, there's surely always some way to trap him. Her mother wouldn't be caught dead doing such a thing, but her aunt has always believed in the concept.
A baby's a perfectly good trap, and it's not as if her biological clock hasn't had its alarm ringing like mad the past year or so. He's got good genes - good-looking, intelligent, reasonably healthy, even if he's a bit overweight (after all, it doesn't really look that bad on him - it's really sort of cute, not like that girth Crane's packing). Love her or not - if he doesn't, he'll get there eventually - he's a gentleman, no matter how much of a cad he swears he is. He'd do the right thing. He doesn't need Crane; he's got his own money, it's not as if the man's keeping him. Worst thing? Crane kicks him out of the firm? He's earned his reputation back twice over since the Carruthers business and the lawsuit against Eugene Young; she can think of three firms in town who'd put him on partnership track, maybe even bring him in as a partner. Everyone should have learned their lesson since he'd put Judge Young's firm into the ground after they dicked with him.
Besides, she's got connections. Friends in the right places in the party. Alan likes to stand up on issues, and he'd be living with her, and she's in the right district - they need a new state rep, loudmouthed flaming liberal preferred. One judge, her state rep husband, and their adorable child - that appellate seat wouldn't be far behind, would it?
No, it wouldn't. And after a while of having some power in the State House, and a wife with some power on the appellate bench, and a possible bigger race for him, maybe even a federal one, Alan wouldn't even miss waking up in Denny Crane's bed. If he doesn't love *her* that much, not yet anyway, what man doesn't love having power handed to him on a silver platter? She can give him that. He'll stay for that.
She rolls over in bed, satisfied with the sex, with her bedside book, with herself. She's been a successful attorney, she's a respected local jurist, and who would have believed, outside of Aunt Maggie, that her greatest power was right where Aunt Maggie always insisted, right between her legs.
Baby. What a beautiful word.
end