“Alrighty ghostys,” said Taylor to her empty bedroom when she finally awoke late the following day, “Please let this movie night happen. I just need a night off, then you can throw whatever you want at me.” Dangerous words to say, admittedly, but she was feeling good – she’d just slept for fourteen hours and felt great. Well, her shoulder was sore, and it had a huge bruise on it, but other than that, she felt good.
She jumped in the shower, got dressed, opting for her usual combat/camisole attire, and straightened her hair. By the time she had put some mascara on, she only had a couple of hours until the others turned up. As Marty was at work – he’d swapped his shift with Sid so that he could have the evening off – she set to cleaning the apartment. By the time she had nearly finished – just the dishes to dry – there was a knock at the door. She answered it to find Lindsay waiting expectantly.
“I do have the right place,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m glad you could come.”
Lindsay followed Taylor into the kitchen, “So who’s coming?”
“Marty – when he finishes work – he might be a little late, Sheldon, Danny, and Flack.”
“No Mac or Stella?”
“Stella has a date with Frankie, and Mac said something along the lines of, “no, thank you, you children have fun”.”
“Frankie, eh?” Lindsay questioned.
“Yeah, you want a glass of wine?” Taylor asked, pulling out a bottle of red. She poured them both one. “He’s a sculptor, or something. I’ve met him briefly, and he doesn’t seem that bad. Keeps sending her roses.”
“Ah, I want someone to send me that,” Lindsay sighed, wistfully.
Taylor smiled, “No one in the picture then?”
Lindsay shook her head, “Nope. Not for now, anyway. I’m still trying to get settled.”
“Can I ask a question,” she asked as the two of them walked to the couch.
Lindsay shrugged, “Sure.”
“You’ve been here, working with, well, dead people, right?”
“Well, I’ve only been here a couple of months, but yeah.”
“Does it get easier?” Taylor asked her.
Lindsay sighed, “You get numb to it, like you’re watching a film.”
“How do you deal with it?” Taylor asked with a frown.
Lindsay thought about it. “Go home and not think about it. Leave the work at work.”
Taylor was about to tell her that was a hard thing to do, considering it wasn’t work, and the ghosts had no problem going home to her, when the door went again. Before Taylor could answer it, it opened, and Danny, Sheldon and Flack walked in.
“Evening,” said Sheldon, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Who are we waiting for?” Danny asked, pulling a beer from the pack he was holding and putting the rest in the fridge.
“Just Marty, but he’s going to be late. He said to get started without him,” she shrugged, leading them into the living room. Danny bounded ahead and leapt onto the larger of the two couches, almost knocking the drink out of Lindsay’s hand.
“Watch it, Messer!” she growled.
“Calm down, Montana,” he told her, lightly, knocking his shoulder against hers.
Taylor suppressed a giggle, “Are those two always like that?” she asked Sheldon who was smirking next to her.
He nodded, “Pretty much.” He walked off and sat on the smaller of the couches, followed closely by Flack.
“Any suggestions?” Taylor asked as she walked over.
“I think we should go for Rocky,” said Sheldon.
“No,” said Lindsay, “The Lord of the Rings trilogy.”
“We only have one night, Montana,” Danny complained.
“It’s Lindsay, Messer. And we can finish it off another night.”
“What about the Die Hard trilogy?” Flack suggested.
“Ooooh, Bruce Willis!” exclaimed Lindsay.
“Bruce Willis? Are you kidding? He’s old enough to be your dad,” scoffed Danny.
“I’m with Lindsay on this one,” agreed Taylor, as she found the DVD on the shelf, and put it in the player, “There’s something about him. You can’t tell me that you guys don’t find at least one older woman attractive.”
“Kim Basinger,” said Sheldon, with a smile on his face, not missing a beat.
“Really? I’d have to say Heather Locklear,” said Danny.
“Demi Moore,” chimed in Flack.
Taylor and Lindsay shared a look as Taylor came and sat down next to her.
“You started something,” muttered Lindsay. “Press play before they get onto their Lindsay Lohan/Hillary Duff debate.”
“Lindsay Lohan/Hillary Duff?” Taylor repeated, mildly amused.
“Lindsay,” said Flack.
“No, Hillary,” said Sheldon, giving the detective a little push.
Taylor rolled her eyes and pressed play. The guys soon quietened down as the movies started.
About halfway through, Marty turned up, carrying a huge crate of Chinese takeaway. “Didn’t know what everyone wanted, so I ordered their six person banquet,” he told them settling it on the coffee table. “You owe me $8 each,” he added, before sitting himself down on Taylor’s lap.
“Ew!” exclaimed Taylor, pushing him off so he fell on the floor, “You stink!”
Everyone was soon wrinkling their noses as they caught the smell radiating off him. “You had a decomp, then,” said Danny.
“Go get a shower,” ordered Taylor, “Before you make the room stink too.”
“I’ve already had a shower,” Marty informed her.
“What did you wash yourself with? Rancid meat?” Taylor scoffed.
“Taylor, the smell of decomp lingers for days. It won’t simply wash out,” Lindsay told her.
Taylor blanched, “I really did not want to hear that.”
“You got any lemons?” Lindsay asked.
Taylor pulled a face. “Lemons in your wine?”
“No,” said Sheldon, “Lemons help get rid of the smell.”
“Seriously? Yeah, I got a few in the fridge. Go knock yourself out, Mart,” Taylor said, wafting Marty away.
He got up and wrapped his arms around her, “Come on, you love me no matter what I smell like.”
Taylor pushed him back and pulled a face, “Not when you smell like that, I don’t.”
By the end of the film, Marty had returned and was sprawled out on the floor in front of Flack and Sheldon, Taylor had curled up on Lindsay, who had curled up on Danny, and everybody was comfortably full.
“It amazes me,” said Taylor, as Marty put in Die Harder, “How you guys can relax to something like Die Hard. Surely it’s like watching work.”
“This is coming from the girl who watches Sex and the City, even though she’s a journalist herself, in New York, none-the-less,” commented Marty.
Taylor threw her cushion at him, “She writes about sex, not crime. It’s not the same.”
Marty took the cushion and stuck it under his head, “Thanks,” he told her, before pressing play.
Towards the end of the film, Taylor could feel her eyes beginning to droop – Lindsay was actually quite comfortable – so she got up and headed for the kitchen. She yawned and stretched, and grabbed a glass of water, before returning to the living room. Marty had stolen her place.
“My, what a Kodak moment,” she said, looking at him, Lindsay and Danny all curled up together. She dropped onto the floor where Marty had been sitting.
“You know, you can come sit up here, if you want?” Sheldon offered.
“After,” she told him, leaning back against his legs. “This movie will be over in a minute and I don’t want to get comfy only to have to move again.”
By the end of the third movie, Flack, Sheldon and Taylor were sprawled out, entwined in each other. Marty, Lindsay and Danny didn’t look much different. And no one was left awake.
She jumped in the shower, got dressed, opting for her usual combat/camisole attire, and straightened her hair. By the time she had put some mascara on, she only had a couple of hours until the others turned up. As Marty was at work – he’d swapped his shift with Sid so that he could have the evening off – she set to cleaning the apartment. By the time she had nearly finished – just the dishes to dry – there was a knock at the door. She answered it to find Lindsay waiting expectantly.
“I do have the right place,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m glad you could come.”
Lindsay followed Taylor into the kitchen, “So who’s coming?”
“Marty – when he finishes work – he might be a little late, Sheldon, Danny, and Flack.”
“No Mac or Stella?”
“Stella has a date with Frankie, and Mac said something along the lines of, “no, thank you, you children have fun”.”
“Frankie, eh?” Lindsay questioned.
“Yeah, you want a glass of wine?” Taylor asked, pulling out a bottle of red. She poured them both one. “He’s a sculptor, or something. I’ve met him briefly, and he doesn’t seem that bad. Keeps sending her roses.”
“Ah, I want someone to send me that,” Lindsay sighed, wistfully.
Taylor smiled, “No one in the picture then?”
Lindsay shook her head, “Nope. Not for now, anyway. I’m still trying to get settled.”
“Can I ask a question,” she asked as the two of them walked to the couch.
Lindsay shrugged, “Sure.”
“You’ve been here, working with, well, dead people, right?”
“Well, I’ve only been here a couple of months, but yeah.”
“Does it get easier?” Taylor asked her.
Lindsay sighed, “You get numb to it, like you’re watching a film.”
“How do you deal with it?” Taylor asked with a frown.
Lindsay thought about it. “Go home and not think about it. Leave the work at work.”
Taylor was about to tell her that was a hard thing to do, considering it wasn’t work, and the ghosts had no problem going home to her, when the door went again. Before Taylor could answer it, it opened, and Danny, Sheldon and Flack walked in.
“Evening,” said Sheldon, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Who are we waiting for?” Danny asked, pulling a beer from the pack he was holding and putting the rest in the fridge.
“Just Marty, but he’s going to be late. He said to get started without him,” she shrugged, leading them into the living room. Danny bounded ahead and leapt onto the larger of the two couches, almost knocking the drink out of Lindsay’s hand.
“Watch it, Messer!” she growled.
“Calm down, Montana,” he told her, lightly, knocking his shoulder against hers.
Taylor suppressed a giggle, “Are those two always like that?” she asked Sheldon who was smirking next to her.
He nodded, “Pretty much.” He walked off and sat on the smaller of the couches, followed closely by Flack.
“Any suggestions?” Taylor asked as she walked over.
“I think we should go for Rocky,” said Sheldon.
“No,” said Lindsay, “The Lord of the Rings trilogy.”
“We only have one night, Montana,” Danny complained.
“It’s Lindsay, Messer. And we can finish it off another night.”
“What about the Die Hard trilogy?” Flack suggested.
“Ooooh, Bruce Willis!” exclaimed Lindsay.
“Bruce Willis? Are you kidding? He’s old enough to be your dad,” scoffed Danny.
“I’m with Lindsay on this one,” agreed Taylor, as she found the DVD on the shelf, and put it in the player, “There’s something about him. You can’t tell me that you guys don’t find at least one older woman attractive.”
“Kim Basinger,” said Sheldon, with a smile on his face, not missing a beat.
“Really? I’d have to say Heather Locklear,” said Danny.
“Demi Moore,” chimed in Flack.
Taylor and Lindsay shared a look as Taylor came and sat down next to her.
“You started something,” muttered Lindsay. “Press play before they get onto their Lindsay Lohan/Hillary Duff debate.”
“Lindsay Lohan/Hillary Duff?” Taylor repeated, mildly amused.
“Lindsay,” said Flack.
“No, Hillary,” said Sheldon, giving the detective a little push.
Taylor rolled her eyes and pressed play. The guys soon quietened down as the movies started.
About halfway through, Marty turned up, carrying a huge crate of Chinese takeaway. “Didn’t know what everyone wanted, so I ordered their six person banquet,” he told them settling it on the coffee table. “You owe me $8 each,” he added, before sitting himself down on Taylor’s lap.
“Ew!” exclaimed Taylor, pushing him off so he fell on the floor, “You stink!”
Everyone was soon wrinkling their noses as they caught the smell radiating off him. “You had a decomp, then,” said Danny.
“Go get a shower,” ordered Taylor, “Before you make the room stink too.”
“I’ve already had a shower,” Marty informed her.
“What did you wash yourself with? Rancid meat?” Taylor scoffed.
“Taylor, the smell of decomp lingers for days. It won’t simply wash out,” Lindsay told her.
Taylor blanched, “I really did not want to hear that.”
“You got any lemons?” Lindsay asked.
Taylor pulled a face. “Lemons in your wine?”
“No,” said Sheldon, “Lemons help get rid of the smell.”
“Seriously? Yeah, I got a few in the fridge. Go knock yourself out, Mart,” Taylor said, wafting Marty away.
He got up and wrapped his arms around her, “Come on, you love me no matter what I smell like.”
Taylor pushed him back and pulled a face, “Not when you smell like that, I don’t.”
By the end of the film, Marty had returned and was sprawled out on the floor in front of Flack and Sheldon, Taylor had curled up on Lindsay, who had curled up on Danny, and everybody was comfortably full.
“It amazes me,” said Taylor, as Marty put in Die Harder, “How you guys can relax to something like Die Hard. Surely it’s like watching work.”
“This is coming from the girl who watches Sex and the City, even though she’s a journalist herself, in New York, none-the-less,” commented Marty.
Taylor threw her cushion at him, “She writes about sex, not crime. It’s not the same.”
Marty took the cushion and stuck it under his head, “Thanks,” he told her, before pressing play.
Towards the end of the film, Taylor could feel her eyes beginning to droop – Lindsay was actually quite comfortable – so she got up and headed for the kitchen. She yawned and stretched, and grabbed a glass of water, before returning to the living room. Marty had stolen her place.
“My, what a Kodak moment,” she said, looking at him, Lindsay and Danny all curled up together. She dropped onto the floor where Marty had been sitting.
“You know, you can come sit up here, if you want?” Sheldon offered.
“After,” she told him, leaning back against his legs. “This movie will be over in a minute and I don’t want to get comfy only to have to move again.”
By the end of the third movie, Flack, Sheldon and Taylor were sprawled out, entwined in each other. Marty, Lindsay and Danny didn’t look much different. And no one was left awake.
Originally posted: 20/05/2006