By Tuesday morning, the last thing Taylor wanted to do was a photo shoot, but she had been putting it off for so long that Sasha had finally gone to Alex. Alex had called Taylor the previous evening to tell her that she was going to this shoot before she got on the plane. So that was why, at nine am, Taylor was being ushered into a photographer’s studio in a loft in Tribeca by a very excited Sasha.
Sasha was a stunning 23 year old originally from India who once had a promising career as a model until her first year of college when she had been involved in a drink-driving accident. She had walked away with only a cut on her face, the only survivor in the car.
But the cut hadn’t healed and the scar meant that a career as a model was no longer an option. Yet it hadn’t slowed her. She was still the life and soul of the party (although she was now, obviously, very strict about drinking and driving) and had enough energy to put even a hyperactive four year old to shame.
Excitedly, Sasha produced a gorgeous navy blue skirt suit with a white bodice-style top and a killer pair of heels. Once changed, Taylor was led to hair and make-up, where she just sat back and allowed them to work their magic, too busy worrying about the flight she was going to take that afternoon.
By the time they had finished, she had worked herself into a small panic and wasn’t paying much attention to Sasha, who was kitting her out with various accessories. That was until she strapped the gun belt to her.
“What the hell is that for?” Taylor exclaimed as she realised the reason the gun was so heavy was because it was real.
“Relax,” Sasha reassured her. “It’s just for publicity.” Sasha was exceptionally good at her job, and Taylor had listened to Al complain for a solid hour last year, yet had later been thrilled at the results of his publicity photographs.
So, despite her reservations, Taylor stood back and allowed Sasha and the photographer to work their magic. “I don’t understand why you need so many,” Taylor grumbled when they were done several hours later.
“More variety means more choice,” explained Sasha. “Besides, Alex wants a few posters up around the city.”
“What!”
Sasha grinned. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
Taylor glanced at her watch and swore. “Sasha, promise me there won’t be too many posters.”
“You’ll miss your flight,” Sasha all but sang at her.
With a glare, Taylor grabbed her case. She’d decided earlier that she would go straight from the shoot and had said goodbye to Flack, who’d told her most apologetically that he couldn’t get the afternoon off work to say goodbye at the airport, and dashed out of the door in search of a cab.
By two o’clock she was at gate 27 at JFK, pacing back and forth trying to remind herself that flying was actually safer than driving… and exorcisms.
Taylor glanced at the clock and decided that it was time to take a sleeping tablet. As she’d discovered on her flight out nine years ago, the only way she could handle it was if she was asleep.
Only, after tipping the entire contents of her purse onto the floor, dropping to her knees and searching through the upturned items, before moving onto her laptop bag, she realised didn’t have them.
Taylor was about to bolt, abandoning the flight, and just go home, when a hand held them in front of her eyes. Taylor’s eyes slowly followed the hand to its owner. “Don?”
“Hey, Tay.”
“I thought you couldn’t get the afternoon off?” she said, staring at him suspiciously.
“Surprise,” he beamed at her. “You didn’t think I’d let you go to the other side of the country, and back, by yourself, did you?”
“Hang on,” Taylor frowned. “To the other side of the country and back?”
Flack held up a plane ticket. “Surprise again?”
Taylor squealed and leapt on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder.
Flack grinned. “Well I haven’t had a vacation in six years. The Chief could hardly say no.”
Taylor let go of him and dropped back to the floor to scoop up her things. “I should probably take a pill,” she told him, taking the packet off him.
“Am I not good enough?”
“Not unless you intend on knocking me out. Trust me when I say that I will not be surprised if you want to take a different flight back to me.”
Sasha was a stunning 23 year old originally from India who once had a promising career as a model until her first year of college when she had been involved in a drink-driving accident. She had walked away with only a cut on her face, the only survivor in the car.
But the cut hadn’t healed and the scar meant that a career as a model was no longer an option. Yet it hadn’t slowed her. She was still the life and soul of the party (although she was now, obviously, very strict about drinking and driving) and had enough energy to put even a hyperactive four year old to shame.
Excitedly, Sasha produced a gorgeous navy blue skirt suit with a white bodice-style top and a killer pair of heels. Once changed, Taylor was led to hair and make-up, where she just sat back and allowed them to work their magic, too busy worrying about the flight she was going to take that afternoon.
By the time they had finished, she had worked herself into a small panic and wasn’t paying much attention to Sasha, who was kitting her out with various accessories. That was until she strapped the gun belt to her.
“What the hell is that for?” Taylor exclaimed as she realised the reason the gun was so heavy was because it was real.
“Relax,” Sasha reassured her. “It’s just for publicity.” Sasha was exceptionally good at her job, and Taylor had listened to Al complain for a solid hour last year, yet had later been thrilled at the results of his publicity photographs.
So, despite her reservations, Taylor stood back and allowed Sasha and the photographer to work their magic. “I don’t understand why you need so many,” Taylor grumbled when they were done several hours later.
“More variety means more choice,” explained Sasha. “Besides, Alex wants a few posters up around the city.”
“What!”
Sasha grinned. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
Taylor glanced at her watch and swore. “Sasha, promise me there won’t be too many posters.”
“You’ll miss your flight,” Sasha all but sang at her.
With a glare, Taylor grabbed her case. She’d decided earlier that she would go straight from the shoot and had said goodbye to Flack, who’d told her most apologetically that he couldn’t get the afternoon off work to say goodbye at the airport, and dashed out of the door in search of a cab.
By two o’clock she was at gate 27 at JFK, pacing back and forth trying to remind herself that flying was actually safer than driving… and exorcisms.
Taylor glanced at the clock and decided that it was time to take a sleeping tablet. As she’d discovered on her flight out nine years ago, the only way she could handle it was if she was asleep.
Only, after tipping the entire contents of her purse onto the floor, dropping to her knees and searching through the upturned items, before moving onto her laptop bag, she realised didn’t have them.
Taylor was about to bolt, abandoning the flight, and just go home, when a hand held them in front of her eyes. Taylor’s eyes slowly followed the hand to its owner. “Don?”
“Hey, Tay.”
“I thought you couldn’t get the afternoon off?” she said, staring at him suspiciously.
“Surprise,” he beamed at her. “You didn’t think I’d let you go to the other side of the country, and back, by yourself, did you?”
“Hang on,” Taylor frowned. “To the other side of the country and back?”
Flack held up a plane ticket. “Surprise again?”
Taylor squealed and leapt on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder.
Flack grinned. “Well I haven’t had a vacation in six years. The Chief could hardly say no.”
Taylor let go of him and dropped back to the floor to scoop up her things. “I should probably take a pill,” she told him, taking the packet off him.
“Am I not good enough?”
“Not unless you intend on knocking me out. Trust me when I say that I will not be surprised if you want to take a different flight back to me.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later, (after practically being dragged on the plane kicking and screaming… well, after a lot of coaxing from Flack, the man on the gate, a couple from two rows behind, and the air stewardess), Taylor was sitting on the plane, checking for the thousandth time that her seatbelt was securely fastened. Taylor gave it another tug before reaching for the safety leaflet and flicking through it for almost the same amount of times as she’d checked her belt.
“It’s not changed since the last time you checked it,” Flack pointed out.
Taylor glared at him and stuffed it back into the seat back. Within minutes she was tapping hand against her knee, only stopping when Flack grabbed it.
After feeling it shaking in his hand, he turned and gave her a reassuring smile. “You know you’re safer flying then-”
“Then driving,” Taylor finished. “And as I haven’t driven much, I think the odds are in the plane’s favour, so don’t,” Taylor didn’t finish the sentence as she let out a scream instead.
“That’s just the wings,” Flack told her calmly.
Taylor glared at him. “Why on Earth are the wings making a noise like that? That’s it!” she cried, not giving him the chance to answer as she started to take her seatbelt off.
Flack clamped his hand down over the buckle. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the plane began accelerating down the runway and into the air.
Taylor clamped on hand firmly onto the armrest and the other over Flack’s hand as she shut her eyes.
“Taylor,” Flack winced as the plane began to level. “I don’t mind you holding my hand, but I do need to be able to hold a pen again.”
Taylor peeked open her eyes and began to loosen her grip. That was until the wheels began to retract. Even Flack had to laugh at the look of horror on her face. “It’s just the wheels. Calm down.”
“Do you know how much I want to strangle you right now?” Taylor asked, glowering at him.
Flack laughed again and pushed the armrest up and out of the way, pulling her close. “Just shut up and go to sleep.” A while later, the pills kicked in and Flack pulled out some sheets of paper from his pocket and read them.
Six hours later they landed in San Diego Lindbergh Field Airport and Flack decided to wait for the other passengers to exit the plane before waking Taylor. Not, it turned out, that he needed to have done, as she was still groggy from the pills.
She followed him docilely through the terminal, through baggage claim and into the car rental terminal, where she revived herself. “Not Budget.”
“Flack frowned. “Um…alright. Why?”
“Too many bad experiences,” Taylor muttered darkly.
“Any preferences?”
“Nope. Just not Budget.”
Flack shrugged and headed for the nearest counter.
Half an hour later they were seated in a brand new Ford Expedition, and Taylor was directing Flack, who had insisted that Taylor wasn’t driving until the sleeping tablets had completely worn off, to her old house.
“You live here?” Flack asked, a little surprised, as they drove upwards, into a hilly estate.
“Yeah, why?”
Flack shrugged. “No reason, I just figured you for living nearer to the beach.”
As they pulled into the driveway, the front door opened and a woman with long, dark hair and tanned skin appeared, wearing a flowered apron.
Taylor leapt out of the car and ran up the steps wrapping her arms around her. “Mama!”
Slowly, Flack made his way over, standing at the bottom of the steps and staring awkwardly up at the embracing women.
“And who is this?” Mrs. Turner asked, glaring suspiciously down at the detective, her voice thick with a never-lost Italian accent.
“I’ve told you about him Mama,” Taylor explained. “This is Don Flack, my-”
“The man you live with?” Mrs. Turner sniffed.
Taylor rolled her eyes, “No, mom. That’s Marty, who you have spoken to, on numerous occasions. This is my boyfriend.” Flack smiled politely up at her.
“I wish you had told me you were bringing company,” Mrs Turner sighed. “I would have made the bed up in the guest room.”
Taylor frowned. “We don’t have a guest room.”
“Of course we do. If you bothered to visit every once in a while you would know that.”
Taylor shook her head. “It’s alright,” she sighed, changing the subject. “He can sleep with me.”
“HE WILL DO NO SUCH THING!" Mrs Turner screeched.
“Mrs. Turner,” Flack piped up before Taylor could make a responding comment. “If there is any problem, I will quite happily check into a hotel. I don’t want to be any trouble.”
Mrs. Turner’s glared softened and she nodded her approval. “Nonsense. I’ll just set up the guest room. Why don’t you show him the living room, Taylor, while I put fresh linen on the bed?” She then disappeared into the house.
“Sorry,” Taylor muttered. “I should have warned you about her. She’s a little… traditional.”
“How traditional?” Flack asked with a small smile.
“In every sense of the word,” Taylor muttered dryly as she led them to the living room.
* * *
Instead of Taylor’s mother calling them into the kitchen, it was the lure of a heavenly smell that brought the couple in. “Can I do anything to help, Mama?”
Mrs Turner eyed her daughter. “Stay away from my cooking.”
Taylor swiped at Flack who was chuckling to himself, before stalking over to the cabinets to set the table.
A short time later, all three were sitting at the table, Mrs Turner serving the food: spaghetti bolognaise and garlic bread. Something which put a broad smile on Flack’s face, as he remembered the ‘meal’ Taylor had attempted to cook for him.
Taylor had been right. She was nothing like her mother when it came to cooking. The food was good enough to serve in a restaurant. “Mrs. Turner, this food is fantastic.”
A small smile grew on Mrs Turner’s face. “You like it?”
“It has to be the best bolognaise I have ever tasted, and I’ve tasted a lot,” he glanced over at Taylor. “Including your daughter’s.”
Mrs Turner burst out laughing. “And you are still alive?”
“It was not that bad,” Taylor pouted.
“It wasn’t this good,” Flack laughed. “You’ll have to give me the recipe, Mrs. Turner.”
“Taylor, stop pouting. It’s very unbecoming,” Mrs. Turner reprimanded. “And dear,” she turned to Flack. “Firstly, call me Nicolette, and secondly, I will, but only if you promise to never let Taylor attempt to cook it.”
Flack grinned. “That is not a problem.”
Behind her mother’s back, Taylor pulled a face and mouthed suck up at him, before laughing into her fork. Nicolette turned back to her daughter. “And you can behave when you’re sat at the table. I have taught you better than that.”
“Yes Mama,” Taylor sighed, starting to feel like a seven year old all over again.
“Now, I understand you’re a detective,” Nicolette said, spooning some more food onto Flack’s already half empty plate.
“Yes, ma’am. NYPD.”
“And how did you two meet? I hope she wasn’t in any trouble.”
Flack glanced over at Taylor who was staring at him, shaking her head slightly. “She helped out on a case.”
“You mean she wasn’t snooping around?”
“Mama!” Taylor exclaimed.
“No, ma’am,” Flack chuckled.
“Makes a change. She has a habit of snooping in other people’s business.”
“Mom!” Taylor cried, “I don’t snoop. I research.”
“Which is a fancy way of saying snooping,” Nicolette corrected. “Has she told you how she got suspended from high school for breaking and entering the principal’s office? We were very lucky that he didn’t press charges.”
“He didn’t press charges because I got him arrested for stealing several thousand dollars from the school’s pool fund, Mother. And as soon as he was arrested, the suspension was lifted,” Taylor growled at her mother. “And you weren’t complaining when the story I wrote on it got me accepted into NYU.”
Flack cleared his throat. “You have a beautiful home, Nicolette.”
Nicolette shot a warning look at her daughter and turned back to Flack. “Thank you. We’ve lived here since I married Taylor’s father.” She got to her feet and began clearing the empty plates, until Flack got up and took them off her.
“Let me do that,” he told her, taking them over to the kitchen.
“So, Taylor, you never told me what brings you back here?”
Taylor sighed. “Yes I did, Mamma,” she said quietly, “Chris wants to see me.” Nicolette stared at her daughter as though she hadn’t replied to the question and was still awaiting the answer. “Mama, how long are you going to keep pretending that you don’t have a son?”
“I don’t have a son.”
“Yes you do. His bedroom…” Taylor’s gaped at her mother. “Chris’ bedroom. That’s the guest room? Oh, Mother, please tell me you didn’t?”
“I don’t have a son,” Nicolette repeated.
“For God’s sake, Mother!” Taylor snapped.
“Taylor Nicole, you will not take the Lord’s name in vain in this house!”
Taylor glared at her mother, pushed back her chair, making a loud screeching noise as it scraped back across the tiled floor and stormed past Flack, who had been hovering in the doorway wondering if he should break up the argument or not, and outside into the cool night.
Taylor was leaning against the side of the rental, rubbing her temples when Flack came out a few minutes later. “Taylor?”
“She drives me insane,” she told him through gritted teeth. “When she reacts the way she does about Chris I just want to…” She took in a deep breath. “He’s family, Don. And it’s not even like he… he was protecting his girlfriend.”
Flack wrapped his arms around her. “It’s been a long day, why don’t we go to bed.”
Taylor looked up at him. “In separate beds.”
Flack nodded. “Yeah.”
“Sorry.”
“Taylor, the only thing you really need to apologise for are your culinary skills.”
“Has anyone ever told you how funny you are?” Taylor muttered dryly.
Flack nodded. “Frequently. It’s a shame I decided to follow a career in the force.”
“It’s not too late to quit,” Taylor suggested, leading him back into the house.
“Are you kidding? Miss the real life World’s Dumbest Criminals? Besides, I don’t think the world is ready for my comedy debut.” He gave Taylor a hug. “Look, try to get some sleep, alright.”
“I’ll try,” she promised, leaving him at the ‘guest’ bedroom.
Mrs Turner eyed her daughter. “Stay away from my cooking.”
Taylor swiped at Flack who was chuckling to himself, before stalking over to the cabinets to set the table.
A short time later, all three were sitting at the table, Mrs Turner serving the food: spaghetti bolognaise and garlic bread. Something which put a broad smile on Flack’s face, as he remembered the ‘meal’ Taylor had attempted to cook for him.
Taylor had been right. She was nothing like her mother when it came to cooking. The food was good enough to serve in a restaurant. “Mrs. Turner, this food is fantastic.”
A small smile grew on Mrs Turner’s face. “You like it?”
“It has to be the best bolognaise I have ever tasted, and I’ve tasted a lot,” he glanced over at Taylor. “Including your daughter’s.”
Mrs Turner burst out laughing. “And you are still alive?”
“It was not that bad,” Taylor pouted.
“It wasn’t this good,” Flack laughed. “You’ll have to give me the recipe, Mrs. Turner.”
“Taylor, stop pouting. It’s very unbecoming,” Mrs. Turner reprimanded. “And dear,” she turned to Flack. “Firstly, call me Nicolette, and secondly, I will, but only if you promise to never let Taylor attempt to cook it.”
Flack grinned. “That is not a problem.”
Behind her mother’s back, Taylor pulled a face and mouthed suck up at him, before laughing into her fork. Nicolette turned back to her daughter. “And you can behave when you’re sat at the table. I have taught you better than that.”
“Yes Mama,” Taylor sighed, starting to feel like a seven year old all over again.
“Now, I understand you’re a detective,” Nicolette said, spooning some more food onto Flack’s already half empty plate.
“Yes, ma’am. NYPD.”
“And how did you two meet? I hope she wasn’t in any trouble.”
Flack glanced over at Taylor who was staring at him, shaking her head slightly. “She helped out on a case.”
“You mean she wasn’t snooping around?”
“Mama!” Taylor exclaimed.
“No, ma’am,” Flack chuckled.
“Makes a change. She has a habit of snooping in other people’s business.”
“Mom!” Taylor cried, “I don’t snoop. I research.”
“Which is a fancy way of saying snooping,” Nicolette corrected. “Has she told you how she got suspended from high school for breaking and entering the principal’s office? We were very lucky that he didn’t press charges.”
“He didn’t press charges because I got him arrested for stealing several thousand dollars from the school’s pool fund, Mother. And as soon as he was arrested, the suspension was lifted,” Taylor growled at her mother. “And you weren’t complaining when the story I wrote on it got me accepted into NYU.”
Flack cleared his throat. “You have a beautiful home, Nicolette.”
Nicolette shot a warning look at her daughter and turned back to Flack. “Thank you. We’ve lived here since I married Taylor’s father.” She got to her feet and began clearing the empty plates, until Flack got up and took them off her.
“Let me do that,” he told her, taking them over to the kitchen.
“So, Taylor, you never told me what brings you back here?”
Taylor sighed. “Yes I did, Mamma,” she said quietly, “Chris wants to see me.” Nicolette stared at her daughter as though she hadn’t replied to the question and was still awaiting the answer. “Mama, how long are you going to keep pretending that you don’t have a son?”
“I don’t have a son.”
“Yes you do. His bedroom…” Taylor’s gaped at her mother. “Chris’ bedroom. That’s the guest room? Oh, Mother, please tell me you didn’t?”
“I don’t have a son,” Nicolette repeated.
“For God’s sake, Mother!” Taylor snapped.
“Taylor Nicole, you will not take the Lord’s name in vain in this house!”
Taylor glared at her mother, pushed back her chair, making a loud screeching noise as it scraped back across the tiled floor and stormed past Flack, who had been hovering in the doorway wondering if he should break up the argument or not, and outside into the cool night.
Taylor was leaning against the side of the rental, rubbing her temples when Flack came out a few minutes later. “Taylor?”
“She drives me insane,” she told him through gritted teeth. “When she reacts the way she does about Chris I just want to…” She took in a deep breath. “He’s family, Don. And it’s not even like he… he was protecting his girlfriend.”
Flack wrapped his arms around her. “It’s been a long day, why don’t we go to bed.”
Taylor looked up at him. “In separate beds.”
Flack nodded. “Yeah.”
“Sorry.”
“Taylor, the only thing you really need to apologise for are your culinary skills.”
“Has anyone ever told you how funny you are?” Taylor muttered dryly.
Flack nodded. “Frequently. It’s a shame I decided to follow a career in the force.”
“It’s not too late to quit,” Taylor suggested, leading him back into the house.
“Are you kidding? Miss the real life World’s Dumbest Criminals? Besides, I don’t think the world is ready for my comedy debut.” He gave Taylor a hug. “Look, try to get some sleep, alright.”
“I’ll try,” she promised, leaving him at the ‘guest’ bedroom.
Originally posted: 18/09/2006