Taylor was tired, and she’d had enough. She’d been at costume party her paper had hosted, for a little over two hours, dressed at a cheerleader – short skirt, midriff-revealing top, hair in a mass of curls – courtesy of her friend in the sports section, who she was currently stood with. But now, all she wanted to do was go home and curl up in her bed.
For the past few nights, Marty had kept her up (he’d had some time off work) as they watched movies together. He’d moved in about a fortnight ago, about three weeks after the Darius case, when his landlord had doubled his rent. What with the payments for his Porsche, he couldn’t afford to live there, and Taylor had suggested that he take her spare room. Living with him, writing her article, and performing necessary household tasks like laundry, grocery shopping and cleaning, had left her with little enough time as it was.
The ghosts had been good at first – they’d given her a full week to ‘recover’ from Darius, but after that, they’d been coming one after another. It wasn’t too bad. She’d worked the majority of the cases with Stella… and Flack. Stella had taken her under her wing and was even showing her the basics of procedures – not that she was ever allowed to perform one, but she was beginning to get the gist of how things worked. Except, even when she did lie down to sleep, she couldn’t sleep because every time she closed her eyes she saw the bodies.
And that was why she wanted to go to bed. She had had to put enough make-up on to cover the bags under her eyes, she was sure she looked like a clown. Nobody was going to notice if she left now, anyway. She sneaked away, and left, heading to her small office (which she rarely used these days) and grabbed her clothes, before heading home.
It was the middle of May, now, and the temperature had warmed enough for her to feel warm enough walking home in the… modified… blue and white NYU cheerleading uniform she was wearing. That was until some drunken idiots – she assumed students – leant out of a passing car and threw a half-empty beef can at her, shouting “NYU sucks!”
The can hit Taylor on the shoulder, causing the rest of the can to explode over her. She stood there in horror at what had just happened, the warm beer dripping off her. She bit back the tears – her shoulder was stinging like a bitch, and the whole situation was just embarrassing. Thankfully, she was only a block from her apartment, and she ran the rest of the way back, thankful that no-one was going to be in – Marty had mentioned something about playing basketball.
Or at least, that was what she expected. The reality of the matter was very different. Flack, Danny, Sheldon, and no Marty were sat about her living room, all looking very sweaty, and none of them wearing anything other than shorts, vegged out in front of the television, which had a basketball game on.
“About time, Marty, the beer’s-” called Flack, stopping when he saw a wet Taylor stood in the doorway. “Well, if it isn’t Nancy Drew! What the hell are you doing here, Taylor? This was supposed to be a guy’s only evening.”
Taylor dropped her back on the kitchen counter. “I live here. The question is what the hell are you doing here?”
“Don’t get all PMS on us, Marty invited us.”
“How long have you been living with Marty?” Sheldon asked her.
“Three weeks. I had a spare room, and he needed somewhere to stay. Where is he?” Taylor asked, trying to peer around them to see if he was hiding somewhere.
“Went to the store to get some beer,” Danny told her. “If us being here is a problem, we can go.”
Taylor shook her head, “No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it,” she told them, reaching for a towel.
“I didn’t know you followed college sports,” said Danny, referring to the clothes she was wearing.
“I don’t. I don’t have enough time in my life to sleep, let alone know who’s playing who. We had a sports themed costume party that the paper was throwing for our sports writer, Al Briscoe.”
“You know Al? That guy is amazing at writing about the football games!” exclaimed Sheldon.
“So what were you? The entertainment?” Flack snorted, watching Taylor mop herself off.
Taylor glared at him, “Yeah, that’s right. I L-O-V-E - beer being launched-at-me!” she declared, waving her arms and the towel around like she was cheering.
Danny was up and over in a shot. “Taylor, what are you talking about? And what the hell is that mark on your arm?”
“Some drunken idiots decided they hated NYU and threw a beer can at me from their car, which considering they were driving, they shouldn’t be drinking,” Taylor explained.
“Did you get an ID on the car?” asked Sheldon, who had also come over and was wrapping some ice in a towel.
“No,” Taylor winced as the ice was pressed against her shoulder, “I was a bit too shocked.” She leant back against the counter. “That’s what I don’t get about sports. Why do you feel it necessary to take the support that far. I’ve done the research. Sport related crime is ridiculously high.”
“Where did this happen?” Flack asked – he was fuming.
“Just around the corner. Look, you’re missing your game. Don’t worry about it. It’s happened. I’m just going to go get a bath,” she sighed, dumping both towels in the sink.
“Taylor, we should try to find these guys!” insisted Flack.
“Flack, they’re long gone. We’ll probably never even see them again,” she told him, a little taken aback by his reaction.
“That’s not the point,” Flack retorted.
“It never is with you.” She picked the towels up and began cheering again – “D-R-O-P I-T! What does that spell? Drop it! Or do you need me to spell it out another way?”
Flack glared at her, then at Sheldon and Danny who had started sniggering at them.
Taylor threw the towels at them and headed for her bathroom.
“Hey, Taylor,” Danny called after her.
Taylor stopped and turned around.
“You need someone to scrub your back for you?”
Taylor rolled her eyes, “Why, you know someone?”
“Might do.”
She laughed, “Thank you, but no.” She glanced at the television, “You should get back to the game. You just missed the Lakers pull ahead by eight points.”
“What?!” exclaimed Sheldon, hurrying back to the couch, “The Knicks were ahead by seventeen!”
Taylor smiled and headed into her room, to the bathroom. She stripped off and jumped into the shower – she could hear the shouting above the water and figured, if you can’t beat them, join them.
By the time she had washed, braided her hair and pulled on a pair of shorts and a camisole and gone back out there, Mary had returned, and the coffee table was covered in an assortment of beer and pizza boxes. She wandered over.
“You gonna join us?” asked Marty, patting the couch next to him, “I have wine!”
Taylor smiled – she couldn’t stand beer, and he had, indeed, poured her a glass of red wine – so she headed over and sat down, leaning against him, and stretching her legs out over Danny, who was sat at the other end of the couch.
“Glad to see the Lakers are still maintaining their lead,” she said, reaching for her wine.
Well, Danny nearly dropped his pizza, Sheldon’s mouth dropped open, and Flack choked on his beer.
“What?” asked Taylor, innocently, “I was born in California – I’m allowed to support them.”
After a few cries of “blasphemy” and other similar taunts, the group settled back to finish the game. The Lakers won – although, according to all the men in the room, “That foul was never a foul!” Or, as Taylor responded, “they won 130-97, so the issue of the foul was hardly going to change the outcome of the game.”
The beers (and wine) had relaxed them all, and as Taylor flicked the music channel on, the chat changed from sport.
“Whose are all the DVDs?” Danny asked, pointing to the enormous shelving units either side of the TV – there must have been several hundred movies there, and that was before the box sets were included.
“Mine,” said Taylor.
“You have just about every Harrison Ford film there is.”
“Not all of them – just his good ones. I liked him in Star Wars, then Indiana Jones.”
“You like Star Wars?”
“Well, mainly the first three – episodes IV to VI, I mean. The new ones just aren’t the same – too much of the magic was lost when they got carried away with the CGIs.”
Danny gaped at her, “You actually gave the geek answer.”
“Come again?” Taylor asked blankly.
“Well, everybody, every woman I ever spoke to about it, only liked the new ones because Hayden Christian was hot.”
“Nah,” Taylor shook her head. “I preferred Han Solo.”
“You have all the Rocky’s, too!” noted Sheldon.
“Yup, I’m a Rocky fan too.”
“She likes guy movies,” explained Marty.
“Just because they have guns, fighting, or light sabres, doesn’t mean they’re guy movies,” Taylor said, pulling a face.
“Well, they’re stereotypically guy movies,” Marty argued.
“So what does that mean for you, who couldn’t stop bawling during A Walk To Remember?” Taylor retorted.
Marty clamped his hand over her mouth, “That’s not true. I had something in my eye.”
Taylor removed his hand and laughed, “What? For the last half hour of the movie?”
The guys laughed.
“We should organise a movie night, at some point,” Taylor said thoughtfully.
“How about a Ghostbusters marathon,” suggested Flack with a smirk.
“I don’t know,” said Taylor, “I’d be worried you’d hold my hand the entire way through because you got scared.”
Flack scowled, “I am not afraid of ghosts.”
“So you keep saying,” laughed Taylor.
“That’s a good idea, you know,” said Danny.
“What? Flack holding Taylor’s hand?” laughed Marty.
“No, a movie night,” said Danny, chuckling at the comment.
“How about tomorrow night?” suggested Sheldon. “We’re all off, aren’t we?”
The room nodded.
“We can watch scary movies, get some takeout, and relax,” Sheldon continued.
“Fine,” said Taylor, “But I’m inviting Stella and Lindsay, because I’m not going to be able to hold your hands by myself.”
“Hey!” objected Danny, “It’s only Flack whose hand will need holding. OW!” Flack had just thrown his empty can at Danny.
“I am not afraid of ghosts, or scary movies!”
“You’re right, Taylor,” muttered Danny, “He does protest to that fact far too much.”
Flack rolled his eyes and got to his feet.
“Hey, get me another can, whilst you’re at the fridge,” Sheldon called after him as he started to make his way over to the kitchen.
He stopped part way there and looked at stared at Taylor’s diploma which was hanging on the wall. “Taylor Nicole Turner?” he read aloud.
Taylor propped herself up and glanced over the couch, “Yes,” she replied, suspiciously.
“Taylor Nicole Turner.”
“Yes,” she repeated.
“TNT?”
Taylor sighed, “Yes, those are my initials.”
“Your initials are TNT? Oh, insert joke here.”
“Yeah, no doubt you will,” Taylor grumbled, laying back on Marty.
Minutes later, Flack was back, carrying four cans of beer and the bottle of wine.
“Thank you,” said Taylor, as he refilled her glass.
“Not a problem. Wouldn’t want you to explode on us because I neglected to get you a drink when I got everyone else one.”
Taylor rolled her eyes, “I heard them all before in school, Flack. You’re not going to come up with anything new,” she told him, over the laughter of the others.
“Careful, Flack,” warned Danny, “This woman has an explosive temper.”
“Danny!” Taylor exclaimed in disbelief.
“Oh dear, I think you lit the fuse,” said Sheldon.
“Better take cover,” said Marty, “This little bomb can create a lot of damage.”
Taylor looked up at Marty and pouted, “Et tu Brute?”
The guys started laughing, and Taylor joined in, feeling a lot more relaxed that had she had gone to bed.
For the past few nights, Marty had kept her up (he’d had some time off work) as they watched movies together. He’d moved in about a fortnight ago, about three weeks after the Darius case, when his landlord had doubled his rent. What with the payments for his Porsche, he couldn’t afford to live there, and Taylor had suggested that he take her spare room. Living with him, writing her article, and performing necessary household tasks like laundry, grocery shopping and cleaning, had left her with little enough time as it was.
The ghosts had been good at first – they’d given her a full week to ‘recover’ from Darius, but after that, they’d been coming one after another. It wasn’t too bad. She’d worked the majority of the cases with Stella… and Flack. Stella had taken her under her wing and was even showing her the basics of procedures – not that she was ever allowed to perform one, but she was beginning to get the gist of how things worked. Except, even when she did lie down to sleep, she couldn’t sleep because every time she closed her eyes she saw the bodies.
And that was why she wanted to go to bed. She had had to put enough make-up on to cover the bags under her eyes, she was sure she looked like a clown. Nobody was going to notice if she left now, anyway. She sneaked away, and left, heading to her small office (which she rarely used these days) and grabbed her clothes, before heading home.
It was the middle of May, now, and the temperature had warmed enough for her to feel warm enough walking home in the… modified… blue and white NYU cheerleading uniform she was wearing. That was until some drunken idiots – she assumed students – leant out of a passing car and threw a half-empty beef can at her, shouting “NYU sucks!”
The can hit Taylor on the shoulder, causing the rest of the can to explode over her. She stood there in horror at what had just happened, the warm beer dripping off her. She bit back the tears – her shoulder was stinging like a bitch, and the whole situation was just embarrassing. Thankfully, she was only a block from her apartment, and she ran the rest of the way back, thankful that no-one was going to be in – Marty had mentioned something about playing basketball.
Or at least, that was what she expected. The reality of the matter was very different. Flack, Danny, Sheldon, and no Marty were sat about her living room, all looking very sweaty, and none of them wearing anything other than shorts, vegged out in front of the television, which had a basketball game on.
“About time, Marty, the beer’s-” called Flack, stopping when he saw a wet Taylor stood in the doorway. “Well, if it isn’t Nancy Drew! What the hell are you doing here, Taylor? This was supposed to be a guy’s only evening.”
Taylor dropped her back on the kitchen counter. “I live here. The question is what the hell are you doing here?”
“Don’t get all PMS on us, Marty invited us.”
“How long have you been living with Marty?” Sheldon asked her.
“Three weeks. I had a spare room, and he needed somewhere to stay. Where is he?” Taylor asked, trying to peer around them to see if he was hiding somewhere.
“Went to the store to get some beer,” Danny told her. “If us being here is a problem, we can go.”
Taylor shook her head, “No, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting it,” she told them, reaching for a towel.
“I didn’t know you followed college sports,” said Danny, referring to the clothes she was wearing.
“I don’t. I don’t have enough time in my life to sleep, let alone know who’s playing who. We had a sports themed costume party that the paper was throwing for our sports writer, Al Briscoe.”
“You know Al? That guy is amazing at writing about the football games!” exclaimed Sheldon.
“So what were you? The entertainment?” Flack snorted, watching Taylor mop herself off.
Taylor glared at him, “Yeah, that’s right. I L-O-V-E - beer being launched-at-me!” she declared, waving her arms and the towel around like she was cheering.
Danny was up and over in a shot. “Taylor, what are you talking about? And what the hell is that mark on your arm?”
“Some drunken idiots decided they hated NYU and threw a beer can at me from their car, which considering they were driving, they shouldn’t be drinking,” Taylor explained.
“Did you get an ID on the car?” asked Sheldon, who had also come over and was wrapping some ice in a towel.
“No,” Taylor winced as the ice was pressed against her shoulder, “I was a bit too shocked.” She leant back against the counter. “That’s what I don’t get about sports. Why do you feel it necessary to take the support that far. I’ve done the research. Sport related crime is ridiculously high.”
“Where did this happen?” Flack asked – he was fuming.
“Just around the corner. Look, you’re missing your game. Don’t worry about it. It’s happened. I’m just going to go get a bath,” she sighed, dumping both towels in the sink.
“Taylor, we should try to find these guys!” insisted Flack.
“Flack, they’re long gone. We’ll probably never even see them again,” she told him, a little taken aback by his reaction.
“That’s not the point,” Flack retorted.
“It never is with you.” She picked the towels up and began cheering again – “D-R-O-P I-T! What does that spell? Drop it! Or do you need me to spell it out another way?”
Flack glared at her, then at Sheldon and Danny who had started sniggering at them.
Taylor threw the towels at them and headed for her bathroom.
“Hey, Taylor,” Danny called after her.
Taylor stopped and turned around.
“You need someone to scrub your back for you?”
Taylor rolled her eyes, “Why, you know someone?”
“Might do.”
She laughed, “Thank you, but no.” She glanced at the television, “You should get back to the game. You just missed the Lakers pull ahead by eight points.”
“What?!” exclaimed Sheldon, hurrying back to the couch, “The Knicks were ahead by seventeen!”
Taylor smiled and headed into her room, to the bathroom. She stripped off and jumped into the shower – she could hear the shouting above the water and figured, if you can’t beat them, join them.
By the time she had washed, braided her hair and pulled on a pair of shorts and a camisole and gone back out there, Mary had returned, and the coffee table was covered in an assortment of beer and pizza boxes. She wandered over.
“You gonna join us?” asked Marty, patting the couch next to him, “I have wine!”
Taylor smiled – she couldn’t stand beer, and he had, indeed, poured her a glass of red wine – so she headed over and sat down, leaning against him, and stretching her legs out over Danny, who was sat at the other end of the couch.
“Glad to see the Lakers are still maintaining their lead,” she said, reaching for her wine.
Well, Danny nearly dropped his pizza, Sheldon’s mouth dropped open, and Flack choked on his beer.
“What?” asked Taylor, innocently, “I was born in California – I’m allowed to support them.”
After a few cries of “blasphemy” and other similar taunts, the group settled back to finish the game. The Lakers won – although, according to all the men in the room, “That foul was never a foul!” Or, as Taylor responded, “they won 130-97, so the issue of the foul was hardly going to change the outcome of the game.”
The beers (and wine) had relaxed them all, and as Taylor flicked the music channel on, the chat changed from sport.
“Whose are all the DVDs?” Danny asked, pointing to the enormous shelving units either side of the TV – there must have been several hundred movies there, and that was before the box sets were included.
“Mine,” said Taylor.
“You have just about every Harrison Ford film there is.”
“Not all of them – just his good ones. I liked him in Star Wars, then Indiana Jones.”
“You like Star Wars?”
“Well, mainly the first three – episodes IV to VI, I mean. The new ones just aren’t the same – too much of the magic was lost when they got carried away with the CGIs.”
Danny gaped at her, “You actually gave the geek answer.”
“Come again?” Taylor asked blankly.
“Well, everybody, every woman I ever spoke to about it, only liked the new ones because Hayden Christian was hot.”
“Nah,” Taylor shook her head. “I preferred Han Solo.”
“You have all the Rocky’s, too!” noted Sheldon.
“Yup, I’m a Rocky fan too.”
“She likes guy movies,” explained Marty.
“Just because they have guns, fighting, or light sabres, doesn’t mean they’re guy movies,” Taylor said, pulling a face.
“Well, they’re stereotypically guy movies,” Marty argued.
“So what does that mean for you, who couldn’t stop bawling during A Walk To Remember?” Taylor retorted.
Marty clamped his hand over her mouth, “That’s not true. I had something in my eye.”
Taylor removed his hand and laughed, “What? For the last half hour of the movie?”
The guys laughed.
“We should organise a movie night, at some point,” Taylor said thoughtfully.
“How about a Ghostbusters marathon,” suggested Flack with a smirk.
“I don’t know,” said Taylor, “I’d be worried you’d hold my hand the entire way through because you got scared.”
Flack scowled, “I am not afraid of ghosts.”
“So you keep saying,” laughed Taylor.
“That’s a good idea, you know,” said Danny.
“What? Flack holding Taylor’s hand?” laughed Marty.
“No, a movie night,” said Danny, chuckling at the comment.
“How about tomorrow night?” suggested Sheldon. “We’re all off, aren’t we?”
The room nodded.
“We can watch scary movies, get some takeout, and relax,” Sheldon continued.
“Fine,” said Taylor, “But I’m inviting Stella and Lindsay, because I’m not going to be able to hold your hands by myself.”
“Hey!” objected Danny, “It’s only Flack whose hand will need holding. OW!” Flack had just thrown his empty can at Danny.
“I am not afraid of ghosts, or scary movies!”
“You’re right, Taylor,” muttered Danny, “He does protest to that fact far too much.”
Flack rolled his eyes and got to his feet.
“Hey, get me another can, whilst you’re at the fridge,” Sheldon called after him as he started to make his way over to the kitchen.
He stopped part way there and looked at stared at Taylor’s diploma which was hanging on the wall. “Taylor Nicole Turner?” he read aloud.
Taylor propped herself up and glanced over the couch, “Yes,” she replied, suspiciously.
“Taylor Nicole Turner.”
“Yes,” she repeated.
“TNT?”
Taylor sighed, “Yes, those are my initials.”
“Your initials are TNT? Oh, insert joke here.”
“Yeah, no doubt you will,” Taylor grumbled, laying back on Marty.
Minutes later, Flack was back, carrying four cans of beer and the bottle of wine.
“Thank you,” said Taylor, as he refilled her glass.
“Not a problem. Wouldn’t want you to explode on us because I neglected to get you a drink when I got everyone else one.”
Taylor rolled her eyes, “I heard them all before in school, Flack. You’re not going to come up with anything new,” she told him, over the laughter of the others.
“Careful, Flack,” warned Danny, “This woman has an explosive temper.”
“Danny!” Taylor exclaimed in disbelief.
“Oh dear, I think you lit the fuse,” said Sheldon.
“Better take cover,” said Marty, “This little bomb can create a lot of damage.”
Taylor looked up at Marty and pouted, “Et tu Brute?”
The guys started laughing, and Taylor joined in, feeling a lot more relaxed that had she had gone to bed.
Originally posted: 19/05/2006