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 EIGHT

"Don't tell me I wouldn't see you in a week at that bar, or in the cafe looking for me."

Joanne was confident when she was in control. That didn't mean that she didn't like a little chaos, now and then, but she figured everyone needed a little bit of 'other' to give their life some spice.

Which wasn't to say that her life was boring. That wasn't it. The matter was, simply, that for someone who always got what they wanted, and never knew how to back down, getting what she wanted had become simply a matter of time.

She had gotten what she thought she wanted. She had spent the night exploring Maureen, worshipping perfectly shaped breasts, thrusting deeply inside liquid heat, settled between pale white legs and tasted her intimately.

One night of damned fantastic sex, with no awkwardness or shyness because for some reason it was a trait Maureen didn't seem to possess. Joanne had known what Maureen was there for the minute Maureen's breath touched her ear. To finish what they had started required one night of sex. That was all.

How that intention had changed, how sex became warped in her head to making love, was the enigma.

Honestly, Joanne felt like a fool, and it was the feeling she hated most, over sadness, even regret. Being made a fool of was, for some reason, a terrifying prospect, and Joanne had adhered to rules and discipline and methodical lists to always be presented at her best.

She found it completely ironic that Maureen could make her feel foolish over and over and over, and yet for some reason, Joanne could bring her hands to her face and, despite three trips to the bathroom and numerous scrubbing, still swear she could smell her on her fingers.

Shifting in her seat brought about a curious pulse that mimicked phantom fingers still buried inside her.

Truthfully, it wasn't as much Maureen's fault as it was hers. Maureen never gave any pretense or false image. Maureen had wanted sex, and she had gotten what she wanted. Whether or not Maureen had a significant other she had no qualms about cheating with didn't matter to her, and because of that, it shouldn't have mattered to Joanne.

But it did. It had. And now Joanne felt like a fool.

It put her in a sour mood. Her thoughts were no longer coherent, but fevered and disconnected, and it made for a shitty lawyer.

Then again, she didn't seem to be the only one out of sorts.

Antonia Suddelson had been pouty, bitchy and annoyed. Hector Suddelson had been handsome, too thin, and petulant. The brother and sister bickered between themselves and to her, and with her pounding headache and wounded feelings, Joanne didn't feel up to mediating between the twins.

Thankfully, the meeting that was over an hour late getting started ended ten minutes into it, when Hector Suddelson simply got up and walked out, hollering behind him that he 'WASN'T A FUCKING CAUSE!'

Joanne was tired, and as a result, she simply exhaled slowly, arching an eyebrow and leaning back in her chair, tugging at her tie and loosening the knot.

Antonia, frustrated, hazel eyes almost green when contrasted with her well tailored dress, mimicked her brother's tone. "GODDAMMIT, HECTOR! FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE DO SOMETHING THAT MEANS SOMETHING!"

The door slammed, and Antonia slumped in her seat, bangs falling into her face.

Joanne mouth twitched. Rubbing at her eyes, she crossed her arms and studied her client. "I know you want this to happen, but if he's not ready for it-"

Antonia's shoulders straightened, and swiping her bangs from her forehead, her hazel eyes suddenly grew cold. "I'm trying to do something meaningful for my brother. I'm trying to make his life worth something."

"And who says it's not?" she asked quietly. Her head had begun to ache, and her finger pressed to her temple was doing nothing to alleviate it. "He seems to have no regrets."

The look she received was incredulous. "He has AIDS, Joanne! Don't tell me that's not a regret!"

"I never said there weren't consequences," she answered. "But your brother obviously has different priorities."

Maybe she was talking out of her ass. Maybe the legal council she was administering wasn't appropriate, given what this client meant to this company. But Joanne tugged on her tie in her office and considered her other clients, bohemian worthless nothings who lived richer and shorter lives than Mr. Finch or even Miss Suddleson.

"Well, maybe he's not the only one with different priorities." The meeting had apparently put Antonia in a bad mood. "Consider my lawyer, who shows up an hour late."

Joanne pressed her lips together, the remark stinging. However bitchy it came out, Antonia was right. This case should be her priority.

Exhausting and lingering feelings of foolishness triggered a response to react, and Joanne, desperate perhaps for some measure of control, some point of familiar comfort, made a decision.

Resisting the urge to inhale the fingers currently pressed against her chin, she curled them into her lap and straightened up.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "Let me make it up to you." Lifting her head, Antonia's frustrated expression faded into one of surprise when Joanne leaned forward and picked up the intercom. Waiting a beat, she nodded when Steve's voice came on the phone. "Steven, can you please make a reservation for two for tomorrow at the Chanterelle please? Thank you."

Eyes lingered on her, and Antonia's expression was startled, knees locking together, feet moving fidgety. "That's a cozy place for a meeting."

She smiled back ruefully, "Then let's forgo formality and call it a date. Between friends," she added, when Antonia's mouth fell open, and then snapped shut.

There was an odd blush around the usually composed woman that Joanne could have found charming. She told herself she did.

--

"So" let me get this straight." Rolling her eyes, Joanne sighed into her cocktail, ignoring the utter sparkle in Cindy's expression as her friend, blazer off and hair appropriately mussed for their happy hour meeting, practically bounced in her seat. "You actually slept with this woman, and she had a boyfriend the whole time?" Joanne's returning glare was hardly pleasant. "Someone actually screwed over our Joanne?"

"I think you're enjoying this a little too much," she answered dryly.

"What, the actress?" Megan twittered breathily, sinking into her seat, a newly filled margarita in her hand. "Was she at least good?"

Cindy was still chortling. "Yes, baby, was the straight girl to your liking?"

Joanne wasn't in the mood. "You know what? I'm not in the mood for this."

Megan's small, surprisingly strong hand clamped onto her shoulder, stalling her assent. "Stop, stop-" Apologetically, she smiled. "Cindy's going to stop being a bitter gloating bitch and we're going to talk about this and be supportive and then you can tell us whether or not she was any good."

"Well of course she was good." Cindy, arms crossed, looked very much like the Cheshire cat. "Do you think our Jojo would be this torn up if she wasn't?"

Cindy was callous and to the point, she had to be, to be a lawyer. She was also bitterly tactless among her friends ("Bullshit is for the office," she'd used to say.). She had the uncanny ability to cut through the fronts and lies and get to the truth. It was the reason they became friends.

Megan was the reason they stayed that way after the break up. The pretty yoga-obsessed litigator glanced between them both, margarita poised underneath her mouth. "Cindy, stop projecting. You're involved with a very nice girl from Queens."

Joanne groaned, head falling down to her forehead. "I have no idea why I even thought it was a smart idea to tell you."

"You didn't," Cindy remarked flippantly, "We dragged it out of you. Thank God I'm a lawyer."

"Joanne, do you like her?" Megan asked, ignoring Cindy. "Because if you do, this whole boyfriend thing doesn't matter-"

"What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" Lifting her head, Joanne offered her a sharp glare. "Do you think I want to start a relationship with a girl who doesn't think much of cheating? With a crazy straight white girl who calls her boyfriend 'Marky'? I mean, God – what would she call me? Jo-ey?"

"Like you're one to talk. You used to call me 'Honeybear'. You remember that?"

Megan seemed amused. "What if she called you something crazy like" 'Muffy' or" 'Pookie'."

The very word caused a repulsive shiver up her spine. "Pookie!"

"Pookie," she repeated, and collapsed into giggles.

"It doesn't matter," Joanne continued, eyes on Cindy, as Megan continued laughing to herself. "It's not like this girl made any mention of leaving her boyfriend."

"So why do you care?" When Joanne arched a befuddled eyebrow, Cindy shrugged. "If she's that good then just have the sex. If she doesn't care about her precious 'Marky' then why should you?"

"Because she likes her, Cindy," Megan said simply, before pinning her with her dark blue eyes. "She wants more than good sex. Right?"

Thumbs teasing the stem of her glass, Joanne kept her gaze on the liquid inside of it.

"No," she said, in a tight voice, bringing it to her lips and gulping down the bitter liquid. "No, I don't. I want nothing else to do with her. I made a date with the hot client, I'm going to date her-"

"-And get bored and dump her," Cindy finished glibly. Joanne glared silently, but her friend seemed oddly sincere. "Honey, say what you want. Your eyes aren't lying. This girl's got you bad. She's going to break your heart, and you're going to let it happen." Raising her glass, Cindy toasted her calmly. "For your sake, Jojo, I hope it does."

"What?"

"Cindy-"

"No, hear me out," she continued. "Maybe this one will stick – maybe you'll find what you're looking for that you didn't find in me or Kiki or Kristen or this new client you're going to do the same thing to. Or maybe you'll realize that emotion isn't just something you can turn on and off like a switch. That relationships don't come easy and you have to work at them and can't just dump them like a case you've won. Maybe this one will make you want to try." That said, Cindy drank down her glass and put it on the table. "Okay, maybe you're right. I am a bitter drunk."

--

("Face it," Maureen said to her once, months later during an argument about the whole 'how it happened' story, "If I hadn't ignored your stupid little plea, we wouldn't be together right now."

"You only wanted me because you couldn't have me," Joanne muttered back.

"Please. I could have had you any way I wanted you," Maureen said, because Maureen was conceited as all hell. "But Pookie, I just wanted you.")

--

Joanne was so exhausted from the day and the night before it, she had stuffed her tie in her pocket and was in the process of unbuttoning her shirt, when she stepped into her apartment.

Some part of her wondered if Maureen was brassy enough to stay behind when she had ordered her out. If Joanne would open the door and find the beautiful Bohemian splayed out on her sofa, watching television while shoveling Joanne's Orville's popcorn into her mouth, complaining to her around mouthfuls of crunches that Joanne had nothing to eat. Joanne envisioned a triumphant return of her spine, in which Joanne would order her out and stand firm, as Maureen glared at her with that tight jaw, that stony expression that came from years of defying authority.

But it was dark and the moonlight was drifting into her expensive apartment. The television was off. Placing her keys in the keyhole and shrugging off the heavy (but always fashionable, if not severe) trench coat, Joanne didn't bother with the lights, instead moving past the kitchen toward the answering machine.

1 message.

She eyed the machine with a sort of dreaded anticipation, until she sucked in her breath, called herself a moron and pressed the message button.

Not moving far, she slid her hands into her pockets and waited as the robotic voice greeted her.

"Hello. You have 1 new message. New Message-"

Biting her lip, she kept her stance determinedly blasé, as if she could fool her mind with her posture.

"Kitten, it's your father." Her heart thudded and dropped into her stomach, and Joanne's eyes slid slowly shut, ignoring the idiotic disappointment. "I just wanted to remind you, darling, that your mother's dinner is this weekend. We expect you to come, and in your nice heels. Also, I was thinking of stopping by your office today and taking you to lunch-"

There was sudden static, and Joanne opened her eyes, when the recording picked up another voice. "Hello?"

"Oh My God," she breathed, staring down.

"Hello?" her father said. "Who is this?"

"Um hi," came the other voice in the message. "This is Maureen. Sorry, Joanne's not here right now – I was in the shower-"

"Oh my God."

"Oh, I see. I'm Joanne's father, Howard-"

"Hi, Howard! She was really late to work today, or I'd say you could call her there. But I should tell you, she gets really crabby when you just" you know" show up without saying anything."

"Oh my God," she repeated again.

"That's my girl, allright," replied her father. "Maureen, are you-"

"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. End of message. You have no more messages."

"Oh. My. GOD." Blood pounding in her ears, Joanne stayed completely still, trying to wrap her mind on what exactly that message meant.

The light flipped on, and she screeched, jumping in place and swiveling around to catch a sleepy brunette with mussed curls, leaning in her bedroom doorway.

"I had lunch with your dad today," Maureen answered lazily, rubbing with at her eyes with her palm. "He's a nice guy."

Joanne was so flummoxed, she could only stare. "Maureen" What. I. What are - WHAT?"

Maureen considered that statement, and then shrugged, stepping into the room, hands pressed into her back pockets. "I called Mark. Told him that my friend Joanne needed me and I was going to crash with her a couple days and possibly the weekend. Oh, and your dad invited me up with you for your mom's thing."

Once again, Joanne was caught in an insurmountable tide, drowning and scrambling for purchase.

"Why would he do that?" she managed.

"Because he likes me," Maureen said simply, coming closer. Her eyes were dark emerald and catlike, zeroing in on her like prey. Frozen, Joanne didn't move, not as Maureen kept coming closer, and closer still, until her breath was on her lips. "Just like you."

The shudder that came over her the minute Maureen's lips pressed against her was impossible to hide. Eyes drifted shut as the chaste kiss grew exquisite, a soft firm tongue swiping seductively against her lower lip.

As Maureen pulled back, Joanne exhaled, eyes opening, suddenly fragile, taking in the warm green eyes, and the brief glimpse of insecurity that flashed in them when she didn't respond.

Defeated, Joanne took a step forward, into her arms, and met soft lips with her own.

- end chapter