Home Sweet Home Ch. 07

The train stopped at Ogilvie Transportation Center before she had to suffer the confines of her own mind for longer. She was so lost in thought she didn't search for the State Attorney's Office during the train ride. A quick search told her she was half a mile away on foot. Just leave the station, cross the Washington bridge, and walk down a few blocks. Diana still didn't know how to do what she came there to do.

Upon entering the office building, Diana searched for a directory of some kind. She was so used to a county office being at one location, it didn't occur to her he might not even be in this building.

"Can I help you?" the woman at the reception desk asked. Diana's posture and expression displayed someone lost.

"Hello. I'm McCombie county law enforcement. I'm looking for someone, and he forgot to tell me which building he even worked in," Diana said lightheartedly.

"I might be able to help. Name?"

"Ronald Larson," Diana said.

"Mr. Larson is the director of the Conviction Integrity Unit. Right across the street at the Daley center. Tenth floor," the woman said. Diana nodded to thank her and exited the building.

It looked like Mr. Larson had moved up in the world since the last time they had seen each other. Diana hadn't seen the man in nearly seventeen years. Since they met in a bar and she woke up the next morning pregnant with his daughter.

Diana quickly made her way through the courtyard of the Daley Center and into the building. The directions were accurate with the office listed on the tenth floor. She passed through a brief security check point but her badge got her to the elevator. On the tenth floor, she was stopped by a male receptionist.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I'm hoping to speak with Mr. Larson."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No," Diana replies. She was out of idea of this didn't work.

"He doesn't do walk-ins. If you need to file paperwork for innocence, I can point you the right way," the man said. The Conviction Integrity Unit evaluated and investigated claims of innocence from people already convicted. It was probably common to have people try to plead to the man himself.

"Just let him know Diana Jackson is here," she said, though she was unsure if he'd remember her. Best case scenario, he got curious and leaned out of his office, and maybe recognized her.

"One minute," the man said, and walked toward an office twenty feet down the hall. Diana slowly paced around in a small circle while she waited. "Ma'am." Diana looked in the direction of the voice and saw the receptionist. "He'll see you." Even Diana was surprised. Diana was officially further than she thought she'd get. She stepped passed the receptionist, and into the office.

The greatest unfairness in human existence, is at a certain point, men start to look better the older they get. Ronald Larson had a deadly combination of height, looks, and charisma. The guy who leans over a bar, and you still have to look up at him. He was a cute rising young prosecutor in the past, but that boyishness had evolved into the dad a girl's friends had crushes on. In the past his suits were the most expensive he could afford, now they were off the hanger, providing him a sense of relatability. Diana didn't know why, but most of the men she slept with were white, but she imagined her mother's boyfriends likely influenced that preference.

That young attorney was in a bar nearly seventeen years ago. Him and his wife were recently separated, and he was nursing the loneliness with Jack Daniels and wondering when he'd be able to see his young daughters again. An attractive black woman came to the bar for a refill. It was crowded, so she gently pushed her way through, landing at the bar almost nestled under his chest because he had turned sidewise to make space. He remembered how good she smelled. Coconut, from a lotion she used. He remembered her entire body smelled that way as he kissed and caressed every inch of it later that evening.

"I'm surprised you remember me," Diana said to the man leaning on the front of his desk with his hands tucked into his pockets.

"Some men have the courtesy to remember the women they sleep with," Ronald said with a small grin. Diana turned away to hide a blush. Talking about sex embarrassed her. "How long has it been? Sixteen years." Whitney's sixteenth birthday was in two weeks.

"Closer to seventeen," Diana said. She looked around at his corner office with a view and gestured wide. "You've moved up."

"Not easily. You still a cop out in Ferry Grove?" Ronald asked. It stunned her that he remembered that. She had told him she was celebrating the fact she got her dream job in Ferry Grove the night they hooked up. She didn't know why she bothered to tell him, when she figured he'd forget it, and her, in a few hours.

"I'm the Deputy Chief."

"Looks like I'm not the only one who went places. Good for you," Ronald said. He removed his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. "What do I owe the pleasure?" Ronald asked. Diana thought it best to just dive straight in. Get it over with as soon as possible.

"I need a favor," Diana said.

"Seventeen years later to cash in a favor. Are you sure that check won't bounce?" Ronald asked. She liked the fact he pushed back. It might make her day harder, but she still liked the fact the man had a spine.

"I don't like that I'm here for this. I hate it, actually."

"Because it's me?" Ronald asked.

Diana had never harbored any negativity toward him. She couldn't exactly be angry at him for not knowing.

"No, it's not you. Because of what it means. I've been able to do everything on my own, basically my entire life. I took care of my own shit. Now, the unstoppable force, has finally ran into her unmovable object. I need leverage to lift it out of the way," Diana said.

"Let's move past metaphor and get to the point. What do you need?"

"Can you unseal an investigation?" Diana asked.

"Do I have black robes?" Ronald asked. "Only a judge can unseal it. Best I can do is find it and make an oopsie happen."

"Can you make an oopsie happen?" Diana asked. She couldn't stop herself from thinking he already had.

"You're officially asking a State's Attorney, to commit a felony?"

"Unofficially."

"Bold move. But I don't think decent sex nearly two decades ago translates to risking my entire career," Ronald said. He walked around the desk and sat in his chair. "Is that all?"

"I'm asking you to make an oopsie, and I don't talk about a different oopsie," Diana said. Ronald took a second to absorb the threat, then chuckled while shaking his head. "What are the odds of being the State's Attorney with a child born from an affair?"

"Wow," Ronald said, his head still rocking left to right. "First of all, Elise and I are divorced. I was separated when we slept together. Secondly, I'm not a candidate for the office and never will be. Don't want it." He picked up a picture frame from his desk and held it out for her. Diana walked to the desk and took it from his hand. "My wife already knows about Whitney."

Diana froze as she looked at the photograph. Whitney was with her father and stepmother, smiling together at a Cubs game. Whitney was flanked by her two older sisters and appeared to be equally close to them. Diana had never even told Whitney his name. Did he find her, or did she find him?

"How long?" Diana asked.

"Two years." Diana pushed down her surprise. Keeping her calm was starting to physically hurt.

"Two years?" Diana asked. She was almost impressed her daughter could keep a secret for that long.

"She told me she'd tell you. I assumed you already knew. The way you talked when you walked in, I knew she never had. I'm not going to pretend to understand why you never told me. I was kind of a mess back then, and I was technically married. Maybe you thought the kind of guy who would cheat on his wife wasn't trustworthy, I don't blame you," Ronald said.

Diana felt any control she had in this conversation get ripped from her hands. She didn't recall the last time she felt so disarmed in a negotiation. It weighed too much, forcing her to sit down while she reevaluated. It felt like Whitney had lied to her. Every time she said she was going to Chicago with friends, was a lie.

"Instead of coming in here as the hard charging badass I know you are, just talk to me like a human being. I don't respond well to threats. I was a prosecutor, believe me, I get them. Just talk to me."

Diana took a deep breath, and just talked to him. She told him everything about David Fitzgerald, and what she needed to hopefully stop him. After business, they talked about Whitney more than anything else. By talking to him, she was amazed at how much their daughter was like him, well before they ever met. They talked with a similar cadence of speech and inflection of voice. She noticed Ronald had a figurine for an anime Whitney watched on his desk, and laughed when she realized Whitney's love of anime started two years ago. Her older sister Naomi got her hooked.

Their meeting went late, and Diana had to cut it off, otherwise she'd miss the last train out of Chicago. The sun had ducked behind the skyscrapers an hour before Ronald offered to walk her to the train station. Diana would usually have declined the offer, but she said yes so the conversation could last a few minutes longer. They talked about their romantic lives since their night all those years ago.

"Riley Blake?" Ronald asked. Diana nodded to confirm. "How'd that happen?"

"One of my officers did something dumb, and I had to apologize to him on behalf of the department."

"Quite the meet cute," Ronald said with a smile.

"Cute indeed. He told me to fuck off and slammed the door in my face," Diana said.

"How'd that change?"

"I tried again as Diana. He seemed to like her more," Diana said.

Diana had always tried hard to keep her career separate from the rest of her life. It stopped her from bringing the negativity her work could generate inside her home. Part of that was acknowledging regardless of which one she was at any moment, the other still existed. There wasn't a switch she could flick to transition. Sometimes it was easier to handle Deputy Chief Jackson's problems when she was Diana, and vice versa.

Whenever Whitney would ask what was wrong, Diana would tell her, and it didn't matter which version of herself she was. The two talked about everything, or so she thought. That's what hurt the most. It was evidence her daughter could have been holding back other things.

"What was the name of the dirt bag again?" Ronald asked as they walked down the stairs toward the train.

"Don't worry about it. I'll figure it out."

"Our daughter lives in that town too. I said I wouldn't help someone who threatens me. You're just asking. What's his name?"

Diana debated if she bothered anymore, but also knew he wanted to help now. Diana was uncorm"David Fitzgerald. Deputy Chief of Police for McCombie. Possibly soon, Chief of Ferry Grove."

"I should be able to find it with that. I don't need to tell you, this conversation, never happened," Ronald said.

"What conversation?" They both laughed, and heard the intercom announce departure. "Thank you. Not just for...thanks."

"You're welcome. Just go easy on her," Ronald said.

"I'll try," Diana said. After a moment of hesitation, they hugged.

Diana stepped onto the train and found her seat. She waved at him from the window as it departed. It was at that moment, she realized she was now sober enough to let Riley pay for half of Odette's fees.

--

Riley landed at LAX after eight in the evening. The earliest flight he could get was at noon, and it required a layover in Denver. Worst case scenario, he could meet the actors tomorrow for the script read, but all his energy was screaming for it to happen as soon as possible.

Riley powerwalked through the crowd while his phone was trying to find a signal. The bars representing his signal returned, and near instantly he had messages. Grace Weatherby was exclaiming her excitement to participate. Aaron had left an insult ladened message thinking it was a prank, then texted back apologizing when someone convinced him it wasn't a joke. Debra left a message saying the actors would be ready even late tonight if needed, and to call her when he landed.

"You in LA?" Debra asked after half a ring.

"Jogging to baggage claim," Riley said, weaving his way through the airport terminal.

"Some wires got crossed and Aaron thought someone was trying to prank him or something," Debra started to explain.

"His apology for calling me a masturbating teenager in my mom's basement was truly heartfelt. I almost cried," Riley said, nearly colliding headfirst with a man looking straight at his phone while standing directly in the middle of the foot traffic. "Really motherfucker."

"What?"

"Sorry, dumbasses are everywhere..."

"...welcome to LA," they both said in unison.

Riley fought his way to the carousels and stayed observant for his luggage. He watched an elderly man stubbornly refuse help get dragged by his bag as he tried to lift it. A woman picked up her toddler's bag and walked away with a dog in a baby stroller while the child walked. A teenager with an 'eat the rich' t-shirt picked up her Givenchy bag while sipping a Starbucks. She was also sure to slide her Ray-Bans over her eyes and move her hair off her ears to better display her Cartier earrings.

"Fucking LA," Riley muttered to himself.

"I just forwarded you your hotel reservation. Driver should already be in the cellphone lot. Just let me know when you got your bag and I'll have him swing around," Debra said. Riley would have requested she just forward him his number so he could do that himself, but he decided against it. It could lead to his phone number getting leaked, and him having to get a new one. Wouldn't be the first time.

Riley's bag took ten minutes to ride down the carousel. He let Debra know he had his bag, and to send the driver. He was picked up off the curb after confirming he was the customer.

"Are you Hank Connolly?" Riley confirmed he was. It was the name he used when traveling. "Intercontinental huh? GPS says around twenty minutes. LA traffic says next Tuesday, but I'll get you there."

It wasn't twenty minutes, but it also wasn't next Tuesday when Riley was dropped off in front of the Intercontinental in downtown LA. Debra had already paid the driver, but Riley tipped him and rolled his luggage into the building at 10:30. During the drive over, Debra had informed the actors of his arrival. Grace Weatherby and her mother were already in the hotel lobby when he arrived.

"Mr. Blake!" Riley heard echo in the lobby. He tried to pin the source of the voice, throwing his head left and right to find it. "Over here!" A young girl was now standing on a couch in the lobby while her mother was trying to tug her off it.

"Grace, you're making a scene," her mother said.

"I'm an actress mother. Making a scene is my job," she said. Riley rolled his bag over to the two and stopped in front of the couch. "Hello Mr. Blake."

"Riley's fine."

Grace was an eleven-year-old girl excited to be up past her bedtime. It was clear the clothing she wore in her audition was just for the audition. She was now more modest in pajama pants and a sweater. She was taking a nap when her mother woke her up for the emergency script read, so saved time by just keeping her in nightwear.

"Hello sir. I'm her mother Jenna," she said, and Riley reached over the couch to shake her hand. "I'd like to thank you personally for the opportunity. I was told final casting approval is you." Riley noticed her accent was different from her daughter's. "She was raised in London. Her father is English, I'm Irish."

"I was wondering," Riley said with a smile. "Her audition knocked me back. She was Incredible."

"I know I'm awesome," Grace said, still standing on the couch.

"Gracie. Say it," Jenna said.

Grace sighed, and l finally sat down. "Success is destructive without humility and gratitude."

"Thank you," Jenna said. Riley admired the effort Jenna was taking to ensure her daughter's success didn't go to her head. "You can check in, we'll wait."

Riley checked into his room under the reservation Debra had put in for him. She had reserved an executive suite for him and his guests. Riley would normally request a smaller room, but considering he would be entertaining, he accepted the room. He was handed the keycard and turned around to face Grace and Jenna. They had been joined by a man Riley recognized as Aaron Westland.

Aaron was certainly a former model, and Riley was concerned he was too good looking to play the part. Not exactly the problem actors usually found themselves in. Long legs well suited for a runway. An understated sense of style with boots, jeans, and a black leather jacket over a Ramones t-shirt. Brown hair so dark it didn't shimmer with two long bangs dangling over his eyes.

"I'm so sorry. I thought it was a prank," Aaron said first.

"Don't worry about. I appreciated the laugh," Riley said, and extended out for a handshake. "Riley."

"Aaron," he replied. "This really happening? I auditioned, at best thinking I'd play him in flashbacks or something. At least make an impression and get remembered for a different role."

"Netflix is close to shelving the production. Casting has been difficult, and every time we get someone, they bail soon after. How well you two can perform together, is likely the only thing that can make the show go on, so to speak," Riley said, now looking between the two of them.

Aaron looked at Grace and chuckled. The fate of a multi-million-dollar television series rested on the shoulders of a male fashion model, and a little girl in her jammies.

Riley walked with the group to his suite, and Grace immediately reminded everyone she was a child. She jumped on one of the three king sized beds and back flopped on the spread. Her mother explained they were still in a one room apartment in Van Nuys. LA was a hard city to make progress in. Aaron made himself comfortable on a chair, while Riley offered everyone a drink.

"What's the plan boss man?" Aaron asked after Riley handed him a diet Coca-Cola. Grace came tumbling back into the room, saucer eyed and overwhelmed by the suite.

"Script read. See how you two work together," Riley said. He had some scenes sent to him digitally by Debra and made sure the actors had them.

"I'd recommend the scene in the asylum," Grace said, having pushed down her childlike wonder and transitioned into a professional actress at a moment's notice. "1977, an exorcist from The Cross comes to evaluate if Timothy is a fractured,"

"You both have lines in that one, I like it," Riley said, and pulled up the scene on his phone.

Riley sat down with them and read the lines for the exorcist who came to visit, while the actors read their characters. It took a few takes, but Aaron settled into his role, finding that distant gaze of someone having been institutionalized for half a decade. Grace was still pure perfection. That insidious taunt of the little maiden was dripping off her. Infused with irritation, distain, and the sarcasm one has when forced to be in the presence of others they find lacking.

They did another scene, this one set in 1992 along the main plot line. Timothy Augustine is sent to investigate the attack on Theodora Abernathy which left her comatose and her exorcist dead. This leads to a confrontation with a witch who attempts to block Timothy's advance with a barrier of pure fire that only a superior witch could cross without harm. He easily crosses the barrier because of the little maiden's soul inside of him. When the witch refuses to give him the information he wanted, he kills the witch, and recalls her soul back to continue the interrogation. Jenna read the scene as Timothy Augustine's exorcist, Michelle Frost, and Riley read as the 'swamp witch'.