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.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Antonia Suddleson had rich hazel eyes and glossy brunette hair that cascaded down her neck with a nice delicate sheen. She was a former upper middle class child who was now 'new money', or her father was – he had gotten involved early with compact discs, and it was an investment that so far appeared to be paying off.

Antonia had two sisters and a brother – the rebellious middle child who had attended college in the seventies and protested the war, resulting in two arrests for public disturbance, before she calmed down and took a VP job with her father's manufacturing company. She was closest to her twin brother, Hector, who had been a rising ad executive at a New York firm until he had been outed as being HIV positive and then fired.

Currently, she was single.

The facts were typed and put together in Joanne's brown folder, and she glanced them over again, as movement across the crowded delicatessen alerted her to the woman in question, fussing with an umbrella.

Always polite to potential clients, Joanne got to her feet, arm extended to greet the flustered woman, who flashed an almost pained smile back.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," Antonia said, shrugging off her trenchcoat and draping it over the empty chair beside her. "You know New York traffic, and with the rain-"

"It never rains but it pours," Joanne offered good-naturedly. The other woman sighed, flashing a bright, grateful grin. "Please, sit."

Settling down, Antonia went to work quickly unbutton her vest, revealing a modestly low cut green blouse that did wonders with her eyes, making them almost green. "I was so glad to get your call. As soon as I hung up with your answering machine I realized I had completely forgotten to give my name, and the last thing I wanted was to make you think I was so completely arrogant that I would assume you would know who I was-"

Biting her lower lip, Joanne leaned forward, one hand over the other woman's, cutting her off. Apparently Antonia was a rambler.

"Trust me, its fine. I knew who you were."

That at least, seemed to get a relieved, genuine smile. "Sorry – I just" I really want you on this case and I'd hate you to think-"

"I don't," Joanne assured her, and then settled back in her chair, a conscious cue for the other woman to relax. Glancing down at the menu, she lifted her hand and quirked her finger, determined to at least offer the nervous woman a glass of wine.

She was being studied, observed and taking a sip of her water, Joanne straightened her shoulders, more than used to the scrutiny. But the level of intensity that was currently being offered didn't feel the same as the same appraising look she had received from her male clients. She wondered if the sentiment wasn't overtly sexist in nature, and the thought disturbed her.

Joanne was an attractive woman, she believed that. But her beauty, she had been told, was subtle. She was never one to turn heads or crash cars in the street, and the clothes she wore, at least during working hours, were largely of a conservative nature. Her suit and ties were a statement, the short skirts that she sometimes wore stated that she wasn't afraid of being a female, the ties that were almost always colorfully present indicated she was prepared to be as aggressive as any of the men. It wasn't about beauty – it was about work.

"So Mr. Finch tells me your father saved his life during the war," Antonia said, one hand cupping her neck. "That must be a fun story."

Maybe she was reading it wrong – it certainly wasn't something that happened every day. And in another situation, Joanne would have been happy to charmingly indulge an attractive woman with stories of her father and his over inflated war stories. But Joanne was here to discuss her HIV positive brother – not Mr. Finch, her father, or fun stories.

It evoked a different mindset, and now, perhaps thanks to the rather unstable roller coaster with a certain performance artist that lingered in her mind and somehow seemed determined to disrupt it, she wasn't in the mood.

"May I ask you a question?"

There was a pause, before hazel eyes floated down to the menu and a manicured nail followed the items with her hand. "Sure."

"Exactly why did you want me on this case?"

The question was abrupt, and to her credit, Antonia looked genuinely confused. "Because I hear you're very good."

Joanne was narcissic enough not to contest that. "Before we go any further, I think I should explain to you some things about myself that might affect the outcome of this case."

An arched eyebrow lifted. "Meaning."

"Meaning I'm gay," she said, watching carefully for any visible reaction to the statement. Antonia's eyes flickered down, then back up. "And I don't hide that. To attach an openly gay lawyer to this sort of case would make the matter-"

"I hired you because you were gay," she interrupted smoothly.

"Look, Ms. Suddleson-"

"There are very few lawyers out there with the, pardon the expression, balls to stand up for what they believe in. The fact that you're willing to stand by yourself in an area not many are willing to go says to me that you won't back away from this case. My brother isn't a saint. In fact, he's kind of an asshole, who spent the majority of his nights canoodling men. But he's a damned good advertising exec, and now, thanks to this disease, it was all he had left. I know this case is almost impossible to win – I need someone who knows the odds."

Canoodling? Joanne closed her eyes, suddenly very tired. Releasing her breath, she sank deeper in her chair, fingers on her temple. "And I'm a sucker for lost causes."

A slow, brilliant grin creased Antonia's face. "I would say you've got the stock to make things happen," she quipped, a teasing spark in her tone. "After all, your father saved Mr. Finch's life during the war."

--

"Okay, let me get this straight." Cindy, who had decided to go ultra chic lately and wear her brown curls cropped close to her head, had wide eyes and an expressive face. When she got drunk, she also tended to revert to her Southern accent, which made everything absurdly slurred. She also would start calling everyone 'Darlin', 'Sweetheart', 'Honey' and on one memorable occasion, 'Toots'. "You're getting the biggest case that you've ever had practically thrown into your lap. Your client is a really hot girl who is flirtin' with you. And this isn't one your little pro-bono cases, so that all the ass hauling you're doin' – that's gonna get you paid? Darlin' – where is the downside!"

"Is this about that actress?" Megan asked, wide-eyed behind her banana daiquiri.

Joanne could barely suppress her groan, made easier by the second martini already making it's way through her blood stream. "There IS NO actress."

"I thought there was an actress," Megan mumbled, staring hard into her banana daiquiri. "I need more rum in here."

"There is a woman named Maureen – she stopped by the office once, and apparently that means to everyone that I'm sleeping with her."

"Well, are you?" Cindy asked pointedly. Joanne glared, but Megan only glanced up, intently curious.

"No." Sighing, Joanne licked her lips. "I don't even – when did I become the point of conversation?"

"Oh, you know what? It wouldn't matter anyway – Joanne would do the same thing she always does – get tired of her and chuck her." Joanne pressed her lips together, and drained her martini.

"You're such a bitter drunk."

"Oh, it's true!" Cindy snapped. "Honey, I fucked you – I know you. You find these amazing woman who are perfect in every way – the right career, the right color, the right education, and you chuck 'em."

"Mmhmm," Megan replied, fascinated by her little umbrella on top of her drink. "You chuck' em."

"That's not true."

"Oh, it's true," Cindy insisted, "Face it Darlin'. You get bored, and God help the woman who loves you."

Joanne closed her eyes. Had she been sober, she would have taken offense. As fate would have it, she was on her way to getting good and drunk, and her reaction was a simple roll of her eyes.

"You know what?" Megan said, "It makes sense. She gets bored. It's why we're slumming."

"We're slumming!" Cindy agreed, and held up her empty wine glass for the bartender to see. "Joanne likes to go slumming for her kicks."

That was enough to make her eyes blink open. "What!"

"Honey, only you would drag us halfway across town to someplace seedy for a friggin' margarita."

She opened her mouth, and closed it again, shoulders straightened as she looked at the crowded group of Bohemians interacting around them. "It's a martini. And this place has character!"

It did have character. It wasn't suffocating and pretentious. There was a warm feel to it, despite the rowdy crowd, and sipping on her third martini (apple, because she liked it to have a bit of a bite with her kick), Joanne could scan the crowd, peer at the regulars, and not look for a girl with brunette locks and a too wide grin.

"This place has roaches!" Megan murmured, and shuddered. "Can we go soon? Let's go to that girl bar! The one with the dancers!"

"Do you really think we broke up because I was bored?" Joanne interrupted, eyes swiveling back to Cindy.

Cindy's eyes narrowed, and her mouth pursed. "Darlin', not just me. What about Tabitha?"

"Mmhmm. And Kiki," Megan added.

"Kiki was not my fault!" Joanne snapped, nearly slipping off her chair.

"Yes, it was, snotty rich girl." Cindy smiled grandly at the bartender, peering closely at his pierced nose. "Excuse me, how do you blow your nose?"

"Oh, God."

"How rude," Megan said suddenly, loud over the noise of the music mingled with laughter. "Someone ate all the cashews out of the mixed nuts bowl!"

"Joanne, why the hell are we here?"

Joanne was seriously starting to ask that question herself. Glancing down at her half full martini, she took in her well dressed, professional, lesbian friends, and then let her gaze slip over the random, rambunctious, colorful crowd.

What the hell was she doing?

"You know what? Fine. Let's go."

"Oh, thank God." Megan looked visibly relieved, reaching for her Kate Spade purse. "Eating all the cashews? That's just rude!"

"Something is seriously wrong with you, Joanne," Cindy mumbled, making sure to gulp the last of her wine.

Joanne wasn't particularly inclined to disagree, folding her black coat into her hands, and pushing the martini glass away. Turning in her chair, she was digging in her purse for an appropriate tip when a warm hand settled on her knee.

"I almost didn't recognize you without your scowl and your tie."

Rendered suddenly speechless, Joanne's mouth flapped open, eyes dragging from the bright eyes, past the red lipstick, down the strong biceps to the hand pressed against her knee.

"Mmmhmm," she heard tersely. "I think I know what's wrong with her."

It was then she realized she was letting in flies. Snapping her mouth shut, she coughed, trying to bring life back into her voice. "Maureen!"

Maureen arched an eyebrow, and laughed. "Joanne!"

"What are you doing here?" Joanne asked, and as soon as the words left her mouth, flushed in embarrassment. It was an insanely stupid question to ask.

"Um" I live here?" Maureen shrugged and nearly giggled. "Okay, not in the bar, but around here. You're not leaving already, are you?" she continued, apparently noting the way Joanne's jacket was half on, hand still buried in her purse.

Oddly, Joanne couldn't answer. She blinked, speechless, and finally, glanced back at her friends. For some reason, she was surprised to see they were still there, greedily taking in every stupid reaction.

"She's staying," Megan said suddenly, scooting off her chair, pulling Cindy with her. "You don't mind, do you Jo? We've got an early start, and I'm already starting to get tipsy-"

"Meg-"

But Megan was already waving, winking absurdly and nearly tripping Cindy, dragging her through the crowd. For her part, Cindy looked much less enthused.

"For a hot actress she's not that hot-" Joanne heard distinctly, before Cindy was swallowed up by the teeming bodies of Bohemians.

It had to have been the liquor, simmering inside of her, mingling with her blood and making her slightly heady. It could have been that Maureen smelled of cheap strawberry shampoo, or that pout on her face, or the fact that her palm was still pressed on her knee.

"I'm not that hot!"

Joanne knew what liquor did to her. It made her mellow, less inhibited. She could blame it on the liquor if she felt like it. But Joanne knew what she was doing when she covered her darker palm over the pale one, curling fingers around a smooth wrist.

It was enough to distract Maureen, and dark eyes studied the contrast of fingers, and then moved up, connecting intensely with her own. A slow, seductive grin seemed to match hers.

"I take it you don't agree?"

"Not in the least," Joanne agreed huskily. Fingers manipulated the hand held captive in her own, until her thumb slid against the delicate flesh just inside the wrist, stroking at a sensitive spot.

Maureen was bold, intense, and never taking eyes off of her, the other woman pushed their entwined hands off her lap, and slowly, deliberately, settled herself over Joanne's blue jeans.

There was a warm heat to her that made Joanne breathless, and when Maureen looked down at her, fingers rubbing against bare shoulders, she found her eyes lingering on the red, red mouth.

"You came looking for me, didn't you?" Maureen whispered. "Say it."

Joanne didn't. She wouldn't. Instead she simply closed the distance between them, a fevered pant against soft lips.

It ripped a moan out of Maureen's throat, and the sound sent a tantalizing thrill through her, head tilting and tongue dipping firmly inside. She was surrounded by warmness, from the legs straddling her lap to the arms clutching her shoulders, the mouth pressed heatedly to her own.

And as quickly as it had begun, it ended, the woman who so willingly had placed herself on her lap was now scrambling off of it.

Dazed, Joanne stayed put, as Maureen, red lipstick smudged, continued to simply look at her, with an odd unreadable expression.

"What?" she asked, demanding and firm in her drunkenness.

But Maureen simply shook her head and offered a shaky smile. "Nothing, baby. You're a helluva kisser," and with that turned, shoving through the crowd that Joanne realized, had been hooting at the display.

Joanne was left behind, face smudged lewdly with red lipstick that wasn't her own, head ringing, and heart pounding.

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- end chapter