The Tallest Orders
by Pares
Toby had asked her to go to the Childhood Leukemia Foundation Benefit in his place.
"Nope. I'm washing my hair that night."
About the time she figured Toby was debating to himself whether or not he could legitimately *order* her to go in his place, Sam stuck his head in and asked CJ if she'd been able to find any time for the committee on farming goodwill, and weighing a night out, dressed up, in a limo, with an open bar and expensively prepared chicken, against a night spent with a vast number of greenbean farmers who had a bone to pick, she replied, "I can't. I have a thing. I'm going to that cancer benefit thing? Remember?"
Sam, who couldn't possibly be remembering something she'd only just told him, pressed his lips together and nodded briefly, then let go of the door jamb and ducked out.
"You'll go for me?" Toby sounded surprised.
"I'll go *with* you. I hate going to parties alone, and it's fun seeing you try to tie a bow tie. And Andy will be there. That should be good."
"So this isn't a favor, so much as a sadistic experiment in modern anthropology?"
"I'm graciously accepting your invitation, Toby."
"And yet, just moments ago you had no trouble turning me down."
"Yes, but moments ago I'd forgotten that I've been trying to dodge that farming committee."
They'd gone in the limo and Toby had futzed with his cufflinks until finally she'd fixed them, although he'd managed the tie all right, probably as a point of honor. Or else it was a clip on.
She and Andy hovered together and amused themselves by wondering who had come for the free liquor and who had come to make the society page. They decided that most people had come for both, and then Andy's new husband, Devon, had finally arrived and Andy had squeezed CJ's hand and thanked her for coming.
After an early scuffle with Andy over her association with Seth Gillette and his left wing cronies, Toby had retired to the bar.
Not surprisingly, Toby was still there when she went to get a fresh vodka and cranberry.
Toby was leaning on his elbows with his back to the bar, facing the room. Following his gaze, she smiled to see him tracking the statuesque blonde hanging on the arm of Senator Givens.
"You like tall women."
Toby didn't bother to look up but she could feel him frowning at her.
"I'm just saying. You do. Andy is tall. Ann Stark is tall."
"There happens to be a statistically not insignificant percentage of tall women in Washington D.C. Tall women. Who wear heels. And I wouldn't really describe Ann Stark as tall." He deigned to give her a sidelong glance, and then turned again to face the barkeep and wave, resettling on his barstool. "And what makes you think that Ann Stark and I ever--"
"It's a lucky thing I'm not press secretary, or else I'd know everything and then where would you be? You, my friend, are a gigolo. *You* are the White House gigolo! Hm."
"What?" And even though he probably hadn't been asking about the 'hm,' CJ continued.
"It's just that, somehow, I always thought Sam would be the gigolo."
"Sam? Sam-- why would you think that?"
"Well, he *is* the pretty one. I guess it could also be Josh, since he has groupies and everything. But it's you. Is that fair?"
"Fair?"
"I'm good looking, Toby. I'm witty *and* charming. And yet, here I am, alone at a party. How is that fair? You're out there, the White House gigolo and I'm-- I'm not exactly-- I mean. I live like a nun! Practically."
Toby mumbled something, and she nudged him with her elbow.
"You'd have to join a tall order."
"That's almost funny, Toby. How many of those have you had?"
"Three."
The bartender, who was adding a wedge of lime to her vodka and cranberry said, "Four."
Toby frowned at the bartender and then pressed his fingertips to his forehead, as if shading his eyes from some sudden light. He looked at her for a long moment and said, "You're the tallest woman. In the world. Did you know that?"
Deciding it was wiser to pretend he hadn't said that, CJ took her drink and walked away.
When she looked up, Donna was standing at her desk with her hands clasped in that winsome "I'm a sweet blonde girl, won't you help me?" way she had. CJ didn't want to smile right away, because then Donna would know for sure that whatever favor she was going to ask was probably going to be granted.
"Donna. What can I do for you?"
"I was just speaking to Carol? And she told me that you had an interview lined up with Ira Glass? And I was wondering--"
CJ took off her glasses and squinted at Donna.
"Ira Glass? From This American Life, Ira Glass?"
Donna nodded slowly.
"Carol!"
Carol stuck her head in and looked at CJ inquiringly.
"I have an interview with Ira Glass, apparently… When did this happen?"
"I just got off the phone with WBEZ. You had some room in your schedule on April 11th and I thought--"
"Oh my god. Ira Glass!" She stood up and patted her hair absently. "What am I gonna wear?"
"So you can make the April 11th thing?" Carol didn't quite smile, but CJ knew it was there. Not two weeks ago, CJ had been waxing rhapsodic about This American Life and the many fine qualities of Ira Glass, and Carol was fabulously intuitive, the best assistant she'd ever had, a queen, a gem, a delight, a wonder of a woman.
"CJ--" this from Donna, slightly plaintive.
"Yes. Donna. Sorry about that." CJ dropped into her chair again and Donna settled gingerly on the edge of CJ's desk. "Yes?" CJ prompted, and Donna smiled nervously.
"Would you introduce me? If it's not too much trouble? It's Ira Glass and I've always wanted to meet him, and I listen to his show every week, and--"
"Donna! Come on, you just *had* a date, with that tax analyst, Gerry or Garry or something. This is my time to impress upon Ira Glass that my love for him is real."
"But so is mine! It's not fair! You can't have him all to yourself. Please?"
"Also, there's the possibility that he's married."
"Oh. Yeah. But. If he's not--" Donna said hopefully.
"If he's not, I've got dibs."
"Oh, all right. But can't you introduce me anyway? He's dreamy." Then she looked thoughtful. "Not that I, really, even know what he looks like."
CJ closed her eyes and tried to picture him.
"Ummm. Dark hair? Glasses. I think. I actually have no idea. But it doesn't matter, I love him and he *will* be mine."
"Who will be yours?" Toby was at the door.
"Ira Glass. He doesn't know it yet, but he's madly in love with me."
"Okay." And then he wandered away again.
Sam was currently complaining to her about Ainsley and how she was irritatingly right about certain things. Josh came by and stood in the door of her office and threw balled up handfuls of paper at them until they turned as one to give him a peevish look. Then he smiled his little "now I'm satisfied" Josh smile, and having garnered their attention, walked away without a word.
Apropos of nothing Sam asked her, "Do you think Donna could take Ainsley in a fair fight? You know, like in a cage match? Or maybe mud wrestling."
He blinked at her, and looked appropriately chastened, when she gave him the look that said she was moments from deciding to stomp on his instep and give him a judo chop.
Leo stopped by and sat down in the chair next to her desk.
He flapped a manila folder once against his knee, and she looked at him over her glasses.
"What do you know about the Hilgev memo?"
"I really don't know a thing about the Hilgev memo, Leo. I assume I'm going to be learning about it soon?"
"Yup. Here you go. The highlights: Russian émigrés coming into the country through Canada. A moving truck full of 'em got detained this afternoon. Probably you'll get some calls tomorrow."
"I almost can't wait for that, Leo."
"Thanks, CJ."
"You're very welcome."
"Give it a look; Toby'll be by to strategize a little." He stood up and rapped gently on her desk. "You need anything?"
CJ placed her hands flat on her desk, rolled her neck and flexed her shoulders.
"A large, handsome Swedish man licensed to give full body hot-oil massage."
"Is it something about my face?"
"Leo?"
"Is there something in my face that encourages people to volunteer personal information? Because I'm just gonna stop asking."
She smiled at him.
"Okay."
In the mess, while she stood at the salad bar, Sam asked her to name the national exports of Zimbabwe, and when she caught his eye to shoot him down, she realized he'd tipped his chin up to meet her gaze. She was looking down at him. She did that a lot, and not just with Sam.
Idly, she wondered how tall Sam was in his stocking feet.
Certainly, she wasn't an Amazon, but even in flats she was usually taller than most men in the room.
She was taller than the President of the United States.
"Sam, could it be possible that I'm the tallest woman in the world?"
"No."
"There's no chance of my being the tallest woman in the world?"
"You're not even in the top ten. But if you can name me the national exports of Zimbabwe, in alphabetical order, and that country's Gross National Product last year, I will proclaim you the tallest woman in the world."
"You're humoring me."
"No, seriously, I'll get a plaque made."
It was nearly nine before Toby stopped by to outline the press statement.
She prepped it, and stood up to hand it back to him, but misjudged the distance or lost her grip, because the press statement and the Hilgev memo flopped to the carpet.
And when she was on her way up from dropping the Hilgev Memo, Toby sort of bobbed in and kissed her, very quickly, on the mouth.
They both froze, then, and CJ stared at him, trying to think of what to do.
When nothing came to mind, she kissed Toby back, dipping her head and dropping the Hilgev memo again so she could hold Toby's shoulders.
They continued to kiss until CJ had lost her breath and regained a measure of her sanity. Then she pushed him away and staggered over to drop down on the couch, before pointing accusingly.
Toby dropped his eyes and studied the ruffled pages of the Hilgev Memo, where it rested beside his scuffed shoe.
"I *know* you. You *look* all meek and mild-mannered, but in actual fact, you're a... megalomaniac!"
"A megalomaniac?" Toby looked like he was going for 'hurt', but his eyes crinkled, and hinted at 'smug' instead.
"Okay, maybe that was a little over the top. It's just... Toby, this is a *bad* idea. A really bad one, with big potential to become... much much worse. I'm asking you. As a friend. Don't *do* this to me."
"I'm not doing a thing, CJ. Nothing. See? I'm standing over here, and doing... nothing."
"You're doing that thing. That downcast eyes, hands in your pockets, sober little pursing your mouth thing. You have to stop doing it. I mean it."
"What?"
"I'm only human, Toby!"
Toby raised his eyebrows. CJ sighed and raised her arms to the heavens.
"What am I doing? Am I insane? You've got a beard, for god's sake!"
"You like beards."
"No, I most assuredly do not."
"You liked Danny."
"I can't explain my lapses in taste, Toby. Or in judgement, apparently, because, in case you weren't aware, I spend a good portion of my day being interviewed by the press, and it's probably not a good idea to be up there all, you know, rosy with beardburn."
"Well. You look good that way."
She paused and said, "You think I-- Oh, no, no, don't you turn this around! Technically-- well, you're my boss. It's just... sordid, that's what it is. This is a sordid affair!"
"CJ, look--"
"No. No. I'm not-- I can't talk about this right now."
"I'm just trying---"
"Why why WHY are you doing this? Why-- where were you 10 years ago?"
"I was married," he said simply and CJ shut her mouth.
"Right. Right. I'd forgotten that for a moment." She ran a hand over her hair, and rested her palm against her forehead, thinking fiercely. "Okay. Here's what we do."
Toby looked at her expectantly.
"I go back to my place. And you pick up a bottle of wine. *Good* wine. And you come by. And we'll... talk."
"If we're... talking, will I really need the wine?"
She glared at him.
"Okay then. Let me ask you this: is this the sort of talk where I should bring a bottle of scotch instead?"
Wendy and the Lost Boys. Admittedly, Toby was an unlikely Peter Pan, but he'd flown to her window and told her wonderful stories about a never-never land of politics and civic duty and if it had seemed more real to her than her sunny days in Hollywood, well, she'd always had an active imagination.
And now she was one of the boys, but their mother and their sister, and sweetheart, too. Wifeless men, and she a wifeless woman. Or something.
The doorbell rang and she hadn't even brushed her hair.
She opened the door to see Toby staring at the doorbell with his hands behind his back.
"Why did you kiss me?"
"I just-- I wanted to. Why did you kiss *me*?"
"Well. I didn't want to be impolite."
He raised his eyebrows.
"You kissed me because… you didn't want to be impolite?
"Sort of. Do we really need to discuss this now?"
"I would like to point out that you asked me first. What if my advances had been unwanted? Were you... were you feeling threatened?"
"No! Toby-- And I'll have you know that Ron Butterfield himself has trained me in hand to hand combat."
"Really?"
"Well, no. But I *have* taken several courses in women's self-defense "
"Okay then. So. You gonna throw me over your shoulder if I try to kiss you again?"
"That remains to be seen. Did you bring wine?"
He held out the bottle and she turned away to read the label in the hall light.
"'Chateau La Guerre'."
"Is that good?"
"Well, it's not wine in a box, or Mad Dog 20/20. It's not *bad*...." She backed into the hallway, and he crossed her threshold, sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat.
"Because I don't know anything about wine. I don't drink wine. Usually."
"What do you know about Glenlivet?"
"I know it's a single malt beverage. It's 12 years old," He nudged the door closed with his elbow. "The age a girl can be legally married in Bangladesh, I should add."
He leaned close to kiss her, his hands still in his pockets, and she whispered, "Is that true?"
"Is what true?"
"The legal age to be married thingy?"
"CJ-- I honestly have no idea. I'm wondering, would it be possible for us to not talk. At all. Right now?"
"We should have the wine."
"I don't want the wine, CJ. I didn't come here for the wine, or even the conversation, I came here--"
"Why *did* you come here? Because I think I made it clear that this was really not your brightest idea."
"You invited me," he reminded.
"Yes," she said, and she put the wine down and wiped her hands on her hips. "I did that. But still."
"…And sometimes you should get what you want."
"Do you mean I should get it, or you should?"
"*We* should. Honestly. I think you would not be unhappy with this, if we--"
"So, what you're really saying is 'you don't know what you're missing'?" And she sat down on her couch so she wouldn't have to look down at him when she told him no.
"Possibly. Also, 'baby, you ain't seen nothing yet.'"
"Yes, but what concerns me is that I won't know what I've got 'til it's gone. Toby. Think. If this gets out, there'll be trouble. And if I sleep with you, and I like it, and I probably will, and we have to stop, I'll miss it, and then I'll regret it, and then where will I be?"
"In a parking lot?"
"Joni Mitchell references aside, Toby, it's not that I don't want to--"
"I should have brought the scotch. Just-- CJ." And he rubbed his forehead before *looking* at her, directly at her, which he almost never did. "I can be... very persuasive!" Then his eyes skidded away again, and he continued, "At times."
He sat down on the couch beside her and said, softly, "I know. I know that... probably you're right. But. Don't you even want to give it a chance?"
"Toby!" This strange softness in Toby, this reaching out thing he was so stubbornly, gently doing was inspiring dark thoughts. How could he *do* this to her? She wanted to sock him one, but instead she just raised her voice. "You are making me *insane*. And *not* in the good way. If. *If* you weren't, technically, my--"
"CJ, they're not gonna catch us making out under the bleachers!"
"No, but if we have a fight, like this, at work, surrounded by people, it sure as hell won't be too tough to figure out!"
Toby clasped his hands together between his knees and chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip for a moment. He said, "What if I say I don't care?"
"Then you'd be an idiot. *And* a liar. And you're not an idiot. And you had better not have ever lied to me, because I will find *out* and then I will make you *pay*."
"Look. I'm not. This isn't a lie. This is… About us. You and me."
In that moment, she forgave him for his aggravating tenderness, because she felt suddenly vindicated. Something she had long suspected was now spoken fact, and there were few things CJ liked more in the wide world than knowing she had been right all along.
"You like me!" CJ crowed, poking Toby in the chest. "You really like me."
"Yeah, I like you," Toby groaned. "I like you, and Sally Field. It's a great day in America."
"You like Sally Field?"
"Not as much as I like you."
"You have a *crush* on Sally Field! I never knew this."
"I am now liking you less than I was before. In fact, Sally Field is pulling ahead."
"Any other nervous conditions I should know about?"
"Does scotch count? I can't think of any. And also... this is a little bit stupid."
He pressed his knuckles to his temple and cocked his head at her.
"I buy trouser socks when I'm upset about something," CJ confessed cheerfully.
"Trouser socks. 'Trouser' 'socks'," he repeated, waving his hand slightly as if counting the words, or introducing them to one another. "I didn't know that was a thing."
"Yes. It's my secret shame."
"And you thought *we'd* be the scandal."
"I have to say, Toby… I'm feeling pretty scandalous. At this moment." And she leaned closer, and murmured, "So you'd better act fast."
And really, he didn't hurry, but it was all right, because she figured her mood would remain scandalous for some time.
She took care of herself, and yes, mostly it was because there was no one else to take care of her, but she took *good* care of herself. She ran, she biked, she ate right, and she pampered herself at every opportunity. Creams and lotions and long baths, and sunblock and moisturizer and exfoliants.
So she was glad she hadn't skipped shaving under her arms this morning, and she knew that her hands smelled of peppermint oil and Toby tasted like cigars and chocolate.
"Why do you taste like chocolate?"
"There's an obvious answer to that, but I'm going to let you draw your own conclusions," and he kissed her again.
He said, "Easy, baby."
She stared at him.
"Did you just call me 'baby'?"
"Uh. Yes?"
"If you keep calling me that-- well, I'm gonna laugh for one thing."
"I don't mind," and he kissed the hollow of her throat.
"Really? Because… I have to tell you, it hasn't gone over well in the past."
"Just relax. Baby." And his voice was exactly the same as it always was and he looked just the same and it was inexplicably charming to kiss his naked scalp while he nuzzled her breasts, and the laugh bubbled up and she couldn't help it.
And he didn’t mind.
In the morning, she watched him tug on his BVDs, and they were saggy in the seat, and it was evidence that he hadn't planned anything, and it made her smile.
She watched him stoop at the sink and lather his beard with her glycerin soap, and watched him brush his teeth and congratulated herself for buying one Oral B Compact Soft Bristle in every color on a whim. Even if she had actually planned to let Danny choose one, possibly in teal, and instead it was Toby, brushing his teeth with the maroon one.
Toby patted his face with a towel and said, "Do you want to know how I became the gigolo of the White House? Word got out that I can cook."
"You can't cook. I know you can't cook. Remember what I said about the lying thing?"
"I can cook breakfast. I can do things with eggs that you wouldn't believe."
And he made her eggs benedict and she hadn't even known she'd had the things in the house to *make* eggs benedict, and she wasn't sure how old the eggs were, but they smelled... better than good, and as a general rule, she wasn't a big egg fan.
After breakfast, he even washed the dishes, and he put on his suit coat and leaned over to kiss her and he smelled like eggs and coffee and also her mint toothpaste that whitened and fought plaque and gingivitis, and in his beard, beneath her glycerin soap, was the faint scent of herself.
She felt the first touch of real panic.
How the hell was she supposed to argue with him at work if she knew he knew what she tasted like?
"Did you get some sun?"
"What?" She looked up from the statistics on the West Nile Virus outbreak, groggy with numbers.
Donna waved a hand at CJ, and said, "You look like you got some sun."
"Uh. Yeah. I guess. I had lunch at Etzo's. The patio?"
Donna nodded and smiled.
"I love their salads."
"It's the pine nuts," CJ offered, gingerly pressing her hand to her own flushed cheek.
"Does anybody know anything about…" CJ consulted her sheet and looked up again, "The KKK and Missouri's Adopt-A-Highway program?"
Josh tucked his chin and smiled, leaning against his desk. "You know what they say about Missouri, right?"
"No," she said tiredly. "What do they say about Missouri?"
"It's The 'Show Me' State," Sam volunteered.
Josh held up his hands and said, "What? Missouri loves company. That's all I'm sayin'."
"Thank you for that. So, any takers on my *actual* question?"
"The ACLU successfully defended the KKK in court in Missouri, saying the state was denying them their civil rights by refusing to allow them to participate in the Adopt-A-Highway program. It's going to the Supreme Court, and they'll uphold the ruling," Toby said, not bothering to look up from his own notes.
"And the KKK wants to pick up trash on highways… why?"
"It makes them look as if they're just another civic minded organization, instead of a group of racist thugs with an agenda of White Is Right, and a history of violence and oppression." Sam had his crusader hat on again.
"They're mainstreaming," CJ murmured. "Okay. And does anyone else think that any street sign that's emblazoned with a 'KKK' *won't* be vandalized ten seconds after they put it up?"
"It doesn't matter," Josh informed her. "If we only protected the rights of the people we liked--"
"Folks," Leo said. And they all looked his way. "The President is on a schedule, yes? Let's take this up later. He's waiting on you. You know how much he likes that." And he herded them down the hall.
Later that day, she came back to her desk to find a Hershey's Kiss on her blotter, where anyone might have seen it.
She waited until Donna had left for the day and then she went down the hall to Toby's office and closed the door behind her.
When he looked up, she could feel some small buzz at the back of her mind telling her she was about to overreact, but the chocolate kiss was symbolic, indicative of other subtle behaviors and new complexities and she was afraid of what it might mean.
"You can't do that. I'm telling you right now. You left it on the desk and anyone might have seen it and-- you surprised me. I mean, yes, it was sweet, but work is work, and I can't concentrate if--"
He stood up and pressed his palms against his desk.
"What! Are you talking about?"
"The kiss, Toby, the Hershey's Kiss you left on my desk."
"I didn't. I didn't leave a kiss on your desk."
"But. But you--"
"It wasn't me," he insisted. And he sat down again and steepled his fingers, looking pensive.
And of course, *now* she was irrationally disappointed, and her "You didn't?" sounded crestfallen even to her own ears.
"It was Josh," Toby said quietly. "He likes the foil they come in. He rolls it up real small and pelts it at Sam and Donna when he's bored."
"Oh." And she'd known that. She'd *known* that. "Sorry about that, then." And she cleared her throat and walked out.
The next day found her staring at her day book and feeling like utter crap.
Josh breezed by and glanced in, and then stopped and came back.
"Something up?"
"Yes. Something is up. Today is Carol's birthday, and I'm a crummy boss."
"You forgot it, huh?"
"Yes and no. I remembered to write it down. I just didn't remember to do anything about it." She leaned her forehead on her hand and sighed. "My mind is a blank. I can't think of a thing to get her. What kind of person am I?"
"You could take her to lunch," Josh suggested.
"You see? You're a boy. And boys think all you need to do is take people to lunch on their birthdays, but really, you need to put some effort into it, Josh, some *thought*, some *time*--"
"You don't have time."
She peered at him from under the shelter of her hand.
"You know what? You're not helping."
Donna stopped to hand off a binder to Josh.
"Is he bothering you?"
"Yes," And then she said, "Donna. Do you know what Carol might want for her birthday?"
"Well, some people like skiing equipment, or even ski *trips*," she said primly, and Josh rolled his eyes and walked away. "But Carol just broke up with her boyfriend, and she probably--"
"She broke up with Dave? I didn't know that! Why didn't you tell me?"
"They broke up a month ago. Remember? She took those four days off and--"
"Donna, I'm a *crummy* boss. She was with him for two years!"
"You know what she could really use? She could use a romantic adventure. An introduction to a cultured and exciting and possibly eligible man. A man in Chicago."
CJ leaned back in her chair.
"The Women in the White House thing?"
Donna nodded.
"Carol has a crush on Ira Glass, too?"
Donna nodded again.
"Do me a favor? Book Carol a flight to Chicago-- and a room at the Ritz-Carlton. Carol has my credit card." And Donna flashed a smile and turned to leave, and CJ said, "Wait! Donna. Book two flights, and a double room. For you and Carol. You can fight over him when you get there."
"Fight over who?" And there was Toby, a highlighted sheaf of papers in his hand.
"Ira Glass," Donna said, and smiled again at CJ before she left.
"Ira Glass. It seems to me, I heard somewhere that he was madly in love with you. Are you meeting him somewhere?"
"Yes. Chicago. It's a thing. It's a fluff piece. Women in the media. Women in government. Women in the... something. We'll look good, and Donna will get to flirt with Ira Glass."
"And what will you be doing?" And it didn't sound like a joke.
"Working, Toby. I'll be working. It's what I do."
He set the papers in her in-box without another word.
Donna had gone to the mall on her evening break and come back with four different make-up-with-sunblock samples, handing two to CJ.
"Alabaster skin," Donna said.
CJ studied the tube: SPF 30.
The dinner hour had come and gone and she was shouldering her briefcase to leave for the day when Toby knocked twice and then invited himself in.
"Toby. What can I do for you?"
"Are you, uh, doing anything? Later?"
"Yes. I'm going home. I'm going to catch up on some reading and then I'm going to go to sleep." She really didn't want to get into this, she didn't want to have to explain herself, and she didn't want to have to look at him when she told him it wasn't going to work.
"Okay." And he rocked a little on his heels, as if planning his next statement.
"Toby. Look. It was fun. And it would be great if I could have that, and have this, and have everything be okay. But in my experience, no one can keep anything a secret for very long, especially in Washington, and I'm just not prepared to live a double life right now. I mean, yesterday Donna asked me if I'd gotten some sun, and I *told* you--"
"Okay. CJ-- it's okay."
"Okay." And he nodded a little and tucked his chin. At the door he turned around and came back in to leave something on her desk.
It was a Hershey's Kiss.
The next morning, Toby was standing in the bullpen and she had to look twice before she recognized him.
Toby was clean shaven.
Without the beard Toby looked chinless and weirdly vulnerable. As if someone had dyed only half an Easter egg, his jaw and chin pale and soft looking. She wanted to run the pad of her thumb against that spot just below his lower lip. And also yell at him.
She wondered if she should do something dramatic. Maybe stumble back with her hand at her throat, or even swoon. People still swooned, right?
Careening past Carol, who was currently discussing what they would be packing for Chicago with Donna, CJ dumped her papers on the couch in her office and made a beeline for Toby. She grabbed his arm and towed him away from his huddle with Sam and Josh, and they gave Toby a sympathetic look. It was plain that they thought Toby was in for a caning.
She led him back to her office, closed the door, let him go and made a concerted effort to keep her voice down. In fact, for a long moment she just bit her lip and looked at him. At his naked face and his new mouth, a face she knew but had never seen before.
"Grow it back. Toby, you have to grow it back! Right now!"
"I'm pretty sure you know it doesn't work that way," and his beard no longer hid his amusement.
"How can you do this? You're secretly incredibly… incredible, and you're gonna make me cry," she warned.
He put a hand on her elbow, just her elbow, and squeezed, and she took a deep breath.
"Grow it back, Toby," she ordered, and gently tugged her arm away. "I'll be at home. Tonight. If you wanted to. Call. Or something."
He was standing on her stoop.
"I brought wine."
"You brought *good* wine. You brought a Chilean merlot."
"Yes."
"Toby. I'm-- I'm really glad… you brought good wine."
And she let him inside.
His hand on her ankle, and his fingers sliding up her skirt.
He made her neck sweat.
She lifted her head to watch him, and she could see herself in the mirror, her hair clinging to her neck, dark at the temples, the sharp relief of her own collar bone and the small hills of her breasts, and she looked-- surprised. Closing her eyes, she fell back, jouncing the mattress, and Toby never stopped what he was doing, only closed his hand on her hip, trying to hold her still.
And, really, who would be better at this than a chinless man? Although she supposed an argument could be made for chinless women...
Later, she said, "You know what I think? I think you're bald because your brain likes to show off."
"CJ," he said patiently. "That makes no sense at all."
"It makes sense. It makes a *kind* of sense," CJ insisted.
"If you say so," and he rested his hand on her shoulder.
She blinked at him and then she said, "You look like that turtle. That turtle that was always beating Bugs Bunny at his own game? In that race?"
"I think that was a tortoise, actually."
"And in the grand scheme of things, that matters how? You look just like him. Sort of sleepy and sweet, yet secretly sly."
"That's. You have some alliteration thing, there. Look, I-- I don't know where you get this thing that I'm some kind of criminal mastermind. I'm not trying to be anything."
"Toby. Sally Field?"
Toby waved vaguely. "She's spunky."
"*I'm* spunky."
"Yeah. And I like you."
"You really, *really* like me."
END
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