Those Ocean Eyes

Chapter 6

Cassie knows she looks good; she's wearing killer heels and a cream-coloured pant-suit that's tailored to fit her in all the right places. She keeps the jacket unbuttoned so people can get an eyeful of her top, which offers a glimpse of black lace and cleavage, and her hair's just the right side of a little wild.

Still, it doesn't hurt to get a little affirmation, and when Schwimmer's nervous pacing grinds to an abrupt halt so she can stop and gawk at her from across the street, Cassie can't help but smile. Her amusement quickly fades when Rachel lights up like a Christmas tree and starts waving at her enthusiastically, though.

Cassie rolls her eyes when she sees what Schwimmer's wearing; a pleated leather skirt that's far too short to weather the biting cold, tights that wouldn't look out of place on a grade-schooler, and an off-the-shoulder sweater that's like some macabre homage to 'Flashdance.' Cassie sees the black straps running across Rachel's shoulders and she knows – she just knows – that Schwimmer's wearing some kind of obscene, 'Oops I Did It Again' basque under there, because she's the kind of small-town girl who thinks sex appeal can be found in a Victoria's Secret catalogue.

As Cassie weaves her way through the crowd and edges closer to her pupil , she gets her first glimpse of Schwimmer's just threw on make-up. She's all smoky eye shadow, clumpy mascara, and bright red lipstick.

She's a pacifer away from looking like a baby hooker, and Cassie figures Rachel's little friend must have been working late tonight, because there's no way in hell any self-respecting homo would let her leave the house looking like that.

"Forget Broadway, Schwimmer; you could have a career in drag," she says, by way of greeting.

Cassie watches Rachel's earnest little face fall with disappointment, and realises that she probably spent hours in front of the mirror trying to find the "perfect" outfit. She may have failed miserably, but Cassie still feels a little guilty for raining on her parade. It's enough to stop her from commenting on the fact that Schwimmer's walking like a constipated flamingo in her ridiculously high heels.

"Follow me," she says, gesturing for Rachel to accompany her down a seemingly sketchy alleyway.

As they round the corner, the faint strains of Flo Rida's 'Low' waft over to them, and Cassie can't resist swinging her hips to the beat as she slinks her way towards the club. It takes her a moment to realise that Schwimmer's no-where to be seen, and she sighs, turning around with an expression that does nothing to hide her exasperation. She catches Schwimmer staring at her ass from a few yards away, and tries not to snort when Rachel does an award-winning impersonation of a deer-caught-in-headlights.

"You're taking me to a club?" Rachel asks, all wide-eyed and innocent, and Cassie can't tell if she sounds thrilled or appalled.

"Of sorts," Cassie agrees, and she has to bite her cheek to keep from grinning, because she cannot fucking wait to see Schwimmer's face when she sees what's on the other side of that door.

"I just... I didn't bring my fake ID," Schwimmer confesses in a stage-whisper, as though the bouncer standing fifteen metres away from them might be able to hear her over the pounding bass.

"Really, Schwimmer?" Cassie buries her face in her hands, taking a deep breath. "OK, here's a little piece of advice. If you want to work on your sex-appeal, whining about being under-age isn't the best place to start."

"I'm not whining!" Rachel assures her, "I just..."

Cassie doesn't give her a chance to finish. She strolls over to Rachel, grabs her by the hand, and practically marches her towards the door.

"Don't worry, I'll get you home before midnight. Wouldn't want you turning into a pumpkin," she mutters, before sending a mega-watt smile in the bouncer's direction.