All Wet
By Misty Flores
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com

Fandom: Pre-RENT (movie)
Pairing/characters: Joanne/Maureen, Joanne/Other
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Joanne Jefferson's defined, in control life is turned upside down when she comes across one Maureen Johnson.

--

CHAPTER FOUR

Maureen was a quintessential small town wild child. She had an older brother who was married with three children and her father was an insurance man in Jersey. Her mother sold Mary Kay and on weekends had made a point to take Maureen to Brownies and Future Farmers of America, and it was due to her mother that Maureen had first fallen in love with the stage.

"She thought if she could put me in ballet, she could tame me," Maureen explained with a grin, chewing on the edge of her straw. "It didn't work. I was the only little girl in ballet who preformed her solo to Peaches and Cream."

Joanne found herself knowing much more about Maureen than she had originally intended – simply because the woman would not stop talking. Sadly, Joanne didn't seem to mind. Holding a conversation with Maureen felt a bit like trying to pet a feral cat: a little frightening and slightly exhilarating.

In fact, those two contrasting emotions could pretty much describe every encounter she had had with the brunette performance artist. Yes, that was what she was: a performance artist, which Joanne concluded, explained a whole hell of a lot.

Everything Maureen did, every gesture and wave and wiggle of her fingers or her ass, seemed primed for an audience, as if Maureen wasn't just having coffee with her, but with everyone in the café. And people noticed. Even in this yuppie corner of Madison street, Joanne could see the eyes lingering on the tight clothes and chaotic, controlled curls, the formed biceps and the ample bosom – and that ass.

Awareness of the effect Maureen had on people evoked a curious reaction inside of her – and it made her more than a little annoyed with herself.

So she blew out her breath and sucked it back in again, a way to clear her head, and uncurled her fingers from around her cup of coffee. "I should go."

It was a quiet interjection, cut into Maureen's current story about her war on Starbucks, and surprisingly, Maureen seemed to catch it. "What? Why?"

A small smile lifted into her cheeks. "Because some of us have to work, Maureen."

"Oh, okay..." Maureen wasn't a teenager anymore, but her disappointed pout was clearly high school and for some reason it amused her, the way Maureen had; being so blatantly obvious about everything. "So I'll see you again, right?"

The hopeful smile and the lingering touch on her wrist was more than enough to give her pause, and Joanne found herself confused and hating it. Once again lowering herself into her chair, she pulled her hand back and leaned forward. "Can I ask you a question?"

It was her ‘lawyer' voice, firm and to the point. Brown eyes met with hers evenly.

"Sure."

"Why are you doing this?"

Maureen's lower lip was shiny and full, bitten down on by white teeth. "Doing what?"

She was being deliberately vague. Exasperated, Joanne swallowed, glancing away, before pinning her with a harder stare. "So you normally make a habit of tracking down lawyers you hardly know."

"Not really. Lawyers are uptight and boring."

Joanne was too confused to be insulted. "What?"

Maureen just grinned. Reaching to her side, she swiped a pen out of the hand of the man in the suit working beside them, with a "Hi, do you mind?" The man looked like he was going to stutter, but Maureen simply flashed a smile and suddenly leaned forward, grabbing hold of Joanne's wrist with surprisingly strong force. "Here." Spreading her palm wide, she began to etch large digits onto Joanne's skin, from the pad of her palm all the way up past her wrist to her forearm.

It was a shockingly intimate moment, and breathless, Joanne actually held still. Maureen let go, wearing a wide smile and with a wink, tossed the pen back onto the table of their neighbor.

"You know you really shouldn't leave your name and law firm on your deposition if you don't want people to know where you work." Grabbing hold of her jacket, Maureen shrugged into it, and reaching into her abandoned glass for a cube of ice, sucked it into her mouth. "Give me a call sometime," she mumbled around the ice, and just like that, left her sitting at the table.

Joanne almost smacked herself when she realized that once again, she was staring at the ass.

The phone number she had left behind was glaring and obnoxious – not tiny digits, but wide scrawls, clearly visible, with MAUREEN right above them, like she had branded her. Joanne's first impulse was to grab a napkin and douse it in the ice water.

It was a testament to her weakness that just as her hand poised over her wrist, ready to wipe the mark off, she froze.

"Dammit," she swore, and immediately threw the napkin to the side, pulling her blazer on and gathering her briefcase together. When the man beside her only stared, she only shook her head angrily. "You don't want to know."

--

It wasn't as if Joanne Jefferson was FALLING for Maureen Johnson. It was absolutely impossible to even consider something like that, because she had only met the woman three times, and who fell in love with someone after only meeting them three times?

Cindy, her last girlfriend, had been a graduate of Yale. A fellow lawyer, they had met when Joanne had to take on a sexual harassment suit for Mr. Finch, and Cindy, representing her opponent, had been brilliant and sassy and smart. Joanne had worked hard to win that case, and when it was done, she couldn't help but come over and congratulate the other lawyer for her incredibly solid work. They had gone out for drinks, found themselves very compatible, and within in a month, considered themselves exclusive.

The relationship had lasted two months longer than the good sex had, six months, and they had parted amicably. Joanne still considered her a friend.

That was love – the supportive caring relationship that was built upon mutual admiration, having things in common, being able to look across the table and see someone exactly like her – someone with the same goals and opportunities, compatible in every way.

This" attraction for Maureen that had flared up because of a smile and a damned good ass, was not love.

And Joanne was an idiot for even letting the thought and denial flash through her head.

It was completely uncalled for, and Joanne tried three times on the way back to the office to rubbed Maureen's damned name off her forearm and palm. She got as far as rubbing off the M before she gave up with a growl.

"Women," she snapped at the taxi driver, who gave her an odd look.

He nodded in commiseration.

--

Coming into her office was like a soldier going into war, and Joanne prepared herself as such. She walked in with a straight back and a near glare on her face, and anyone who knew her even in the slightest knew better than the comment about her colorful guest.

Sure, there were stares, but Joanne could handle stares, and when she swept past Nicky's office, he barely had a chance to poke his head out and offer a sneer before she was already around the corner.

"Any messages?" she asked, when Steve was in sight. Already he was up and out of his cubicle, rounding the wall with her and following her into her office.

"Just one," he said, formality gone as he plopped into the chair in front of her. "Billy Joel called. He wants his girlfriend back."

A wave of frustration rolled its way up her spine. "Shut up."

"Seriously – who was that?"

"That was"" Joanne sighed, two fingers pinched on the bridge of her nose, trying hard to figure out how to describe the woman. "Maureen."

"Maureeeen," he replied, sounding out the word. "She's hot."

He got a glare in response. "Steven, it's not like that." But she was inappropriately warm, and began to shrug her blazer off. "Can you call Maintenance and see what the hell is wrong with the AC? It's a damned furnace in here."

"Seems fine to me."

"Do I pay you to disagree with me?"

He grinned, a Cheshire cat smile. "So will we be seeing more of Maureen?" When she glared again, he smiled, ready to go on when the door banged open.

"Jefferson!"

Scrambling to his feet, Steve nearly toppled over the chair. "Mr. Finch!"

Joanne was past the point of shock. Crossing her arms, she merely greeted her boss with a nod, tired smile frozen when he stepped into her office with an attractive woman dressed in a sharp, expensive suit.

"Back from lunch with your friend?" he asked, as if it weren't completely obvious.

"Yes sir," she answered, eyeing Steve as he ducked around Mr. Finch and got the hell out of her office. Traitor. "Sorry for the delay-"

"Never mind, never mind," he said, in a tone that clearly indicated it was a problem and she would be hearing from him later. "Meet Ms. Antonia Suddleson."

Smiling politely, Joanne extended her right hand, and it wasn't until Antonia, who reached forward with a warm smile herself, looked oddly at her wrist did she realize that 'MAUREEN' was still sketched in black ink over the pale cocoa skin.

It was mortifying.

There was a moment of awkward silence, where Mr. Finch became a whole new shade of pink, and Antonia elegantly let go of the graffiti-d hand and said with a grin, "Busy morning?"

Flushing, Joanne quickly began to turn down the sleeves, sliding buttons through cuffs. "You could say that."

"Yes.. well..." Mr. Finch was apparently at a loss for words, but to his credit, recovered quickly. "Ms. Suddelson is considering the firm to represent a case of hers."

"My brother has recently been diagnosed with AIDS, and fired," she explained a grimace on her face. "Needless to say, it's a difficult situation. I have the resources to make a statement, and I plan to."

"That's a delicate issue," Joanne said, frown curving her mouth down. "Very high profile."

"Yes," she agreed, "We're considering our options, but" there's no reason my brother should be told when to stop living earlier than his body tells him to."

Pushing hands into the pockets of her fitted black pin stipe pants, Joanne found herself nodding, taking in the rich hazel eyes of the woman across from her.

"It's an admirable stance to take."

"Mr. Finch tells me you share my opinion. I've read about your pro bono work. It's impressive."

She smiled in spite of herself. "Thank you. That's refreshing to hear. Some people consider it slumming."

"I think you're smart enough to know the difference."

A moment, a smile, and then Mr. Finch was clearing his throat. "Well, Ms. Suddelson, I have one more lawyer I'd like you to meet. He specializes with high profile cases and is very good at what he does."

Nodding, she stepped back, and before stepping out of her office, offered a secret sort of smile that Joanne couldn't help but return.

Reaching up to straighten her tie, she caught sight of the edge of black letters, smudged on her palm.

--

Joanne lived in a small one bedroom loft style apartment, barely maintainable on her salary, but roomier than most. She considered it a haven, had bought the space because of light that was let in that seemed almost clean. She pictured herself lounging on the fuzzy carpet she had bought with a good book and a nice bottle of wine, basking in the light drifting in from the large windows. She pictured candlelit dinners and a romantic dance across the polished wood floor.

Truthfully she came home nowadays with take out, barely looking at the moonlight, too tired to do anything but read the briefs she hadn't gotten to and wash the grime off of her.

There was usually a voicemail from her mother or her father, usually encouraging words and masked questions about her private life, wondering how she could be seeing no one if she was never home.

Sinking into her couch, Joanne kicked off the heels that she had worn today in favor of the much more comfortable doc martins she had opted for in the early days, and considered the black smudges on her arm.

It had taken a good bit of scrubbing in the woman's rest room to try and get them off, and still, the shadow of the numbers and the name were still there.

"What the hell kind of pen did that girl use?" she mused, before she sighed again and looked at the blinking light of the answering machine.

("I always leave an impression," Maureen joked when she heard the story months later, and then paused, as if waiting for the 'Badumpbump!' before she burst into laughter.)

Reaching over, she hit the button, hearing her messages rewind. Alone in the darkness, Joanne closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the couch, and let the words wash over her.

"Darling, it's your mother. Your father heard from Mr. Finch and told us you had lunch with an interesting girl. She must be a pro bono case, right? Call us when you can, sweetie. BEEEEP."

"Girl? It's Cindy. Call me back NOW – we're all going to go drinking tomorrow night and you HAVE to be there. Don't give me any of that 'I have to work' crap, okay? Oh, and what's this about you dating some hot actress? BEEEEEP."

"Hi" Ms. Jefferson- Joanne. I hope you don't mind – Mr. Finch instructed your assistant to give me your number. I'd like to have you work on my case, if you have the time. Maybe we could have lunch and discuss it? Your assistant has my number. BEEEP. You have no more messages."

Joanne's eyes opened and she stared hard at the answering machine. Reaching forward deliberately, she grabbed hold of the phone and deliberately began to dial, tongue at the roof of her mouth.

The phone rang, and rang, and suddenly there was a click and the word, "SPEEEEEEEEEEEEEAK."

Speechless, Joanne simply put the phone back in its cradle.

"What are you doing?" she asked herself, and pushed off the couch, heading for bed. She was determined to sleep this off.

- end chapter