Television Romance

What Party?

After the show on Saturday, Juliet burst into Table as if out of a cannon. She was wearing a dainty white dress and thick-soled sneakers that gave the impression that she had just run away from her first-grade class.

"Oh, good, you're here," she said, "How was the show?" She knew the answer of course. She'd been watching the monitors backstage. It was just another question everyone at LTV asked each other. A useless code.

"Good, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it was good."

"Are we ready for the party? I see all the food's here." On the table was an assortment of chips, raw vegetables, and baked goods. The baked stuff was all Nat's tender creation.

"Oh,"—Bill sighed with satisfaction—"She made sopaipillas. Now, all we need is tequila."

"Well, Clyde," she said in a passable Southern accent, "It just so happens that I already got us four bottles of tequila for the party." She gestured to a paper bag standing inconspicuously at the edge of the table. Bill moved into his Texan accent, smooth as silk.

"Hell, you might just be the best damn girl in Texas," he quoted. She grinned up at him. She looked sort of like Bonnie Parker in the 1967 version of Bonnie & Clyde, the way her blonde hair was parted to the side. The white dress. That keen glint in her eye. That's when he liked Juliet best, Bill thought, when she was brimming with mischief and joy and humor. That was also when she made him the most nervous. When she carried herself as if weightless. The feeling of floating at the top of a good swing. When Juliet got like that, she was a touch reckless and near impossible to tame.

"What a sweetheart you are," she cooed and stepped closer, hands on her hips.

"Anything for you, honey." He picked her left hand off her hip and twirled her around. First around then away from him, where she hung a moment in space, her body still but her skirt still twisting, and then back into his arms like a yo-yo back to the hand.

"You already went to the office supply store, right?" she asked.

"Yep. Did Nick get the rest of the drinks?" Bill asked.

"He should be here any minute."

"Someone say my name?" Nick asked, pushing the door open wider with his elbow to make room for the two brimming plastic grocery bags in his hands. Bill quickly let go of Juliet, grabbed one of the bags, and heaved it onto the table. Nick rolled his now unladen shoulder sorely.

"What'd you get?" Juliet asked.

"Scotch," Bill answered for Nick, "Lots of scotch."

"Yeah, sorry, that's just what I grew up drinking. There's a lot of kosher scotches out there, actually."

"You're Jewish?" Juliet said.

"Yeah. You didn't know?"

"I'm learning so much about you this week, Nicky."

"Hey! Nicky! Is that a nickname?" Nick asked excitedly. Bill chuckled, still unloading the first bag.

"I guess it is," Juliet permitted with a smile. She had forgotten how he had wanted a nickname. It probably made him feel like he fit in, she mused. Even though he was older than her he was newer, so she felt protective. Not the protectiveness of mother, more that of an older sister. They really were a family at LTV, a family borne of mutual hatred for the same snobby guests, of shared fatigue and shared laughs. That was why it was so scary to think that five of them would be lobbed from the family tree. That was why Juliet's blood seemed to drop a couple of degrees in temperature when Sam was suddenly in the doorway. Bill sidestepped to hide the bottles already on the table. Nick swung the bag in his hand behind his back, producing a not-at-all suspicious clanging noise as glass collided with glass.

"We're-" Sam started to speak but the clanging continued so he paused until it died out.

"We're having a meeting before the party," he said matter-of-factly.

"Uh, what party?" Juliet tried weakly.

"Bullpen in five minutes," Sam said.

"Yessir," Nick replied, eyes wide. Sam made an expression that was the closest one could get to rolling one's eyes without actually rolling one's eyes. Then he walked away. The words "gruffly handsome" popped into Juliet's head. She chose to keep them there.

"Well, that was close," Nick said. Bonnie and Clyde shot each other a look. The latter took the other bag from Nick to unpack it. Juliet started pushing chairs away from the table so they lined the wall and left plenty of room for dancing.

"Oh, hey! Whiskey!" Bill noticed.

"Well, I didn't just get scotch," Nick frowned as if insulted by the assumption. Bill pulled out not just bottles of whiskey, but vodka, lemonade, coke, and more tequila.

"I think you bought enough to knock out the entire staff."

"Isn't that the point? Oh, Vian's got more."

"More?" Juliet asked incredulously. Pretty soon there wouldn't be enough room on the table for anything else.

"The beer."

"Someone say beer?" Vian was at the door. In her arms were four cases of beer stacked on top of each other.

"Jesus!"--Juliet flinched so bad that she dropped a chair--"I'm going to put a bell on that door."

"I had to sneak it by Sam. I don't know if he noticed."

"Pretty sure the cat's out of the bag," Bill assured her, "Just set them on the table. We have to get to the meeting."