Picking Up the Pieces
Title: Picking up the Pieces
Characters: Damian Spinelli, Coleman, Diane Miller, Brook Lynn Ashton
Words: ~4500
Rating: T
Summary: Spinelli's heart is once more broken but this time he seems to be learning as he at least listens and consults with some friends before once more leaping back into the metaphorical fire of romance
Picking up the Pieces
One thing was indisputable, she could sing, boy could she ever! Yet so could he and not half badly by all accounts. She was a brunette and maybe it was about time he turned in that direction anyway but getting back to the count, so was he. Eyes bluish green, his greenish-uh, just green but still that was all along the same spectrum color wise and certainly closer than stormy grey-blue or hazel which had been the previous default options. She was a Bensonhurst broad born and raised and he wasn’t, just some kid from Tennessee, but at least they both had Italian red running through their respective bloodstreams. Her last name might be officially Ashton but her Mom was a Cerullo and he after all, for what it was worth, was a Spinelli.
She was stunning, he’d seen that the first time her image flashed up on his computer screen when he was hunting her down on behalf of Carly’s revenge plan against Dante and Lulu. Yet, in person she was simply that much more striking. Those eyes, already inventoried, but now surrounded by dark silky lashes and sparkling with life were infinitely more alluring. Her hair cascaded down her back in a dark, silky shimmer while to choose between her ivory skin and raspberry colored lips, he didn’t think, as a biased observer, it was within his meager ability or even inclination to do so.
Still, there was the small issue of her accent, granted it grated on his ears but then again wasn’t that a good thing? One should search for the imperfection which kept an object from complete beauty for that was a state attainable only for supreme beings not mere mortals. He knew of cultures that supposedly believed so strongly in this precept that they placed intentional flaws into their creations-paintings, pottery, weavings and quilts. By creating these mildly defective pieces of art their aim was leave the concept of perfection totally within God’s hands wherein it perpetually belonged. If such a belief held fast for a culture’s crafts then how much more vital would it be to ensure that no single individual would have cause to bring a deity’s inimical gaze down upon their flawlessness so as to engender jealousy, covetousness or outright smiting.
Anyway, it sounded as rational and plausible a theorem as his whiskey soaked brain was capable of formulating at this particular juncture. Besides, his hearing was long inured to such aural indignities after more than two solid years of being subjected to Maxie’s less than dulcet tones for it even to be considered much of an issue.
He swiveled around unsteadily on his bar stool, altogether missing Coleman’s cautionary, “Whoa there cowboy, don’t want you slipping and hurting yourself.”
It was a self serving admonition as he wasn’t interested in getting sued or far worse looking up to see Jason Morgan storming into the bar and wanting to know how exactly it was that his protégé came to harm within the mob friendly environs of Jake’s. Coleman recognized that any argument on his behalf about the hacker being far too accident prone for his own good would be met by a glacial stare, a frowning stone cold visage and quite possibly a fist firmly implanted in his face. Nope, in the interests of self preservation and maintaining his manly good looks he was firmly on the side of prevention being the better part of valor.
“You’re officially cut off as of now, kid.” He said resolutely, ignoring the pleading puppy dog look being sent his way.
Coleman had already confiscated his car keys the minute the young man had sat down at the bar an hour ago and ordered whiskey instead of his much more harmless Nectar of the Gods. Spinelli on a sugar high he was used to but a drunk, morose Spinelli who quoted sad poetry and sighed deeply and often, caused Coleman to grit his teeth and mentally curse Maxie Jones for dumping the nerd. While that callous act might have been her prerogative she had absolutely no right leaving his heart broken carcass behind in Coleman’s bar while she went on her merry way flirting indiscriminately with every male in the city between the ages of eighteen and forty.
Tonight though was different. Coleman was an excellent bartender which made him a great observer of the human condition. Busy as he was serving drinks and keeping tabs on the potentially rowdy customers he hadn’t missed Spinelli’s pensive fascination with Brook Lynn Ashton. He could tell the kid was becoming infatuated. Self preservation caused him to briefly pause and wonder if this might somehow come back and bite him if Jason ever found out that he had a hand in it. Still, he determined for once in his selfish existence to put aside his policy of neutrality and play matchmaker. Coleman told himself it was simply because he was tired of the kid moping all over the place night after night, his deep depression being bad for business. Short of someone sticking bamboo shoots under his fingernails he wasn’t ever going to admit his sneaking fondness for the hapless hacker. Still, if anyone could use some of Coleman’s good as gold advice about how to win over the ladies it was this pathetic puddle of misery currently brooding at his bar.
“Look,” he leaned conspiratorially across the bar counter, the trademark white towel slung over his left shoulder, “I gotta give it to you, kid, you got great taste in the ladies.”
“I do?” Spinelli asked in mild astonishment as he blinked owlishly at the bartender.
“Yep, you do. Man that Maxie Jones, she sure is a fine specimen of womanly pulchritude…” Coleman winced and cursed under his breath. He realized that was absolutely the wrong thing to say as Spinelli’s green eyes filled with tears which threatened to overflow and roll down his cheeks at any moment. “Yeah,” he hastily started to amend his previous statement, scratching at his head in wild abandon as he tried desperately to think of what he ought to say next that might potentially stop the floodgates from opening fully. If the kid turned into a blubbering mess then there was absolutely no way he was going to score tonight. “She’s hot and all but…”
“She’s a complete and utter Jezebel.” The statement was made with incontrovertible authority in a crisp voice. Coleman and Spinelli stared in simultaneous bemusement at the intruder who had so forcefully inserted her unsought opinion into their private tête a tête.
“Just what I was going to say,” Coleman beamed in open relief at his unexpected savior, “What can I get you Ms. Miller?” He had almost broken the bartender’s golden rule by adding ‘on the house’ but he managed to catch himself in time.
“Zinfandel, dry and leave the bottle,” Diane bit off each word with assertive authority while her eyes never left the silent figure sitting next to her. “How are you doing, Mr. Grasshopper?” She asked the question in a gentle voice. Her tone was so entirely different from her usual staccato delivery that Coleman wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t heard it personally. She reached over and ran her hand through his mop of unruly, thick hair. “Bring Mr. Spinelli some sparkling water so he can re-hydrate and keep me company.”
The imperiousness was back and Coleman had to prevent himself from clicking his heels and speeding to do her bidding. Instead he paused for an insolent beat while he stared defiantly into Diane’s glittering eyes, one perfectly etched eyebrow raised in silent query as to why he was still standing there.
“Sure thing,” he finally drawled, slinging the towel down from his shoulder and wiping industriously at an invisible spill before bending down beneath the bar and searching for a couple of appropriate glasses.
“Don’t forget a twist of lemon,” she ordered determined to have the last word, her lip curled up slightly at his insubordination. “Odious man!” She said under her breath to an unresponsive Spinelli.
“She was, wasn’t she?” It was the first time since Diane had joined him that Spinelli had spoken. “A faithless Jezebel.”
His voice was thick with recrimination and sadness and she longed to lean over and hold him and rock him but that wasn’t her mission tonight. No, tonight was all about him letting go of that bleached blonde and Diane Miller was just the one to make sure it happened.
“A round heel of the first order, as you might say,” Diane stated in quiet collusion, “You are well shot of her and her perfidious ways.”
He shrugged and sent her a sad smile, a bare curvature of his lips while his eyes remained murky with melancholy. “Yet what does that make me but the most duped of men? For she treated me thus in such a dishonorable manner not once, not twice but at least three times if not most probably more. At such a dishonorable stage in a relationship the onus of shame clearly shifts from the deceiver to the deceived, to the Jackal himself.”
“Nonsense,” Diane said briskly as she accepted her glass of wine from a glowering Coleman with a well placed glare of her own, “It simply means you were too trusting of a man and that is a rare commodity indeed. Mr. Grasshopper, you are the injured party here and let no one, especially not your overly tender conscience, advise you differently. Let us toast to remaining virtuous in a world full of sin.”
She raised her wineglass and tipped it against Spinelli’s glass of carbonated water. He raised his own glass to his lips and took a reluctant sip of the liquid and then with a vague expression of surprise on his face drained the contents. “The Jackal did not realize how parched he was,” he said with a gasp as he put the empty glass down on the bar and swiped at his wet mouth with the back of his hand.
Coleman gave him a knowing look, “Yeah, when your diet consists primarily of alcohol and salty junk food your body dries out pretty quick.” He popped the cap on another bottle of water and poured the fluid into Spinelli’s glass. The hiss of escaping gas and the clink of displaced ice cubes were the only sounds for the moment as each member of the oddly assorted trio was quietly reflective.
“Would you like me to sue her for you, Mr. Grasshopper?” Diane offered eagerly leaning toward him as she suddenly recollected that she had some very specialized skills she could offer in his service.
“Sue Maximi…Maxie?” Spinelli looked a little dazed at the concept. “What good would that do?”
“Well, I think it is quite legally tenable predicated upon your rather unique arrangement of a ‘non-marriage’. I believe I could make a solid case for breach of contract and thus cause her to pay you some sizeable damages as well as having to cover my not insubstantial legal fees as well.” She smiled wickedly at both men, momentarily forgetting her disdain for Coleman’s boorish attitude in her self aggrandizement.
Coleman was looking at her with an expression of grudging admiration. “I’ve got to hand it to you that is kind of slick, Ms. Miller. It’s about time someone came up with a way to even the score with a cheatin’ woman and all nice and legal like too. Money is always a good balm for an aching heart.”
He raised his own bottle of beer in salute to her wily ways and Diane frowned at him, her former animosity back in full force. “Really, Mr. Coleman, you behave as though all the cheating that occurs in the world were to be laid solely at the feet of women whereas it is a proven fact that men stray much more frequently than their infinitely more superior partners.”
“Is that a fact, well let me just say that in my experience…” Coleman’s face was flushed as he started to retort but she cut him off brutally.
“Ha! Your experience!” Diane snarled at him, her lip actually lifting up to reveal a sharp, ivory colored incisor, “You sir, run a bar wherein you serve the lowest dregs of humanity on a daily basis. I am quite convinced you see equally scurrilous behavior on the part of all your patrons be they female or male. No, my contention holds, the male is lead around by his secondary ‘brain’,” she carved the quotation marks out in the air with her index fingers, before continuing her heated diatribe, “Whereas the softer, more emotionally labile woman is prey to her heart and thus will always be unequal in the ongoing battle of fidelity which plagues the sexes.”
Coleman snorted in disbelief, “That is how you see this one’s ex?” He jabbed a finger in Spinelli’s direction. The hacker was watching the argument unfold with mounting trepidation wondering what he had done to create such discord between the bartender and the lawyer. “All soft and misty eyed and done wrong by her man, like some poor girl featured in a country western song?”
“Miss. Jones,” Diane replied with icy precision, “Is one of those unfortunate females who happens by her very exception to prove the proverbial rule. In Mr. Grasshopper’s case,” she gave Spinelli’s bicep a supportive squeeze as he gazed in mute wonder at her, “He is clearly the wronged party and that is why I would gladly rake her bony derriere over legal coals to give him some sort of closure.” Diane sipped meditatively at her second glass of wine and then uttered words never heretofore heard falling from her lips, “To that most desirable end I would even work pro bono.” She wrapped her free arm protectively around the dark haired boy and laid her head on his shoulder in a surprisingly touching gesture of unguarded affection.
Finally, there was silence, the adversaries had each made their case and it appeared had nothing more to add. After a brief moment, Spinelli garnered the nerve to speak. “While the Jackal appreciates the brusque lady of justice’s fierce desire to avenge him through the rule of law he must regretfully decline the sincere offer of her undisputed talents.”
“Oh?” Diane raised her head and was looking at him with a distinct hurt expression apparent in the depths of her eyes. “Pray tell, why are you snubbing my most magnanimous offer, Mr. Grasshopper?”
He shrugged apologetically and smiled tentatively at her, “For it will not bring me the surcease I am searching for. The main result of such a legal attack will be to incite Maxie to a state of enraged fury of which I am ill equipped to be the target.”
“Don’t you fret about that,” Diane retorted, cold steel evident in her tone, “I’ll make sure the harpy doesn’t get within a thousand feet of you. After all,” she added airily, draining her glass and holding it out for Coleman to refill which he did with ill grace, “That’s what restraining orders are for.”
“Yes,” Spinelli agreed soberly, “But what matters riches for me and humiliation for Maxie when at the end of the day my status is unchanged. I would still be unalterably alone.”
“Well, weren’t you just about to make a move to change all that?” Coleman interjected as he nodded his head toward Brook Lynn who was still sitting by herself at a small table and nursing her beer.
“Oh, do tell, Mr. Grasshopper,” Diane said with renewed animation, “Is there a new prospect in your sights.”
She spun around on her bar stool in a very unsubtle attempt to establish which customer the two men were discussing. Her eye fell upon Brook Lynn who was clearly the lone candidate as she was the only unattended woman in Jake’s. “She’s very pretty,” Diane said uncertainly as she tried to decide if this girl would be a suitable transitional candidate for her broken hearted boy. “In a rather outré fashion that is,” she finally added, not at all sure she liked the looks of the sultry brunette.
“She is indeed beauteous and sings like a nightingale,” Spinelli sighed in a singularly besotted voice. He too had turned around and was once more staring at his potential paramour with the all too familiar signs of ready devotion etched upon his open countenance.
“Hmmph,” Diane said, discovering that perhaps she wasn’t quite prepared after all for Spinelli to move on to another romance. ‘It’s too soon,’ she thought to herself in silent rationalization. “You’ve heard her sing?” She asked neutrally.
“Yeah, the dude’s right, she has an outstanding set of pipes on her.” Coleman added his unsolicited two cents in the mistaken belief that he and the lady counselor were back on the same side of mending Spinelli’s broken heart by the oldest method in the book, getting him laid.
Diane quelled him with a hot glance and Coleman rolled his eyes in exasperation. “So, she’s good at karaoke,” she said dismissively, “I really think this time around you should focus on other less tangible features such as is she intelligent?” She turned to look at Spinelli, her head cocked inquiringly, “I mean correct me if I am wrong but wasn’t that something of a quality in which you and Maxie were far from matched?”
Spinelli stared ruefully at Brook Lynn who continued to be oblivious as they openly speculated about her intellect. He bit his bottom lip as he pondered Diane’s question. Eventually, he looked at her and nodded sorrowfully, “Indeed, the fact of Maxie being quite uninterested in and unaware of many of the Jackal’s intellectual pursuits and sometimes even ignorant of his very choice of words was an arena in which we did not always find a happy medium.” He gave a small humorless bark of laugher, “In my naiveté I simply presumed it would be a discrepancy eventually conquered by the all remedying power of love.”
“It’s not a small point of contention within a relationship,” Diane responded softly.
“No,” Spinelli shook his head empathetically, “It is not. Yet, the Jackal despairs of finding someone who will be able and willing to view the world through an equal prism of wonder and knowledge. Wise Georgie was the only such potential partner who met those stringent specifications and she…” He couldn’t manage to finish the thought, the memory was still too painful to contemplate. A somber silence descended over them as they all mused upon the tragedy of a young, sweet, smart, promising girl taken away from them by the hand of violence which was so pervasive in their city.
“Look,” Coleman was the first to break free of the solemn pall which overlay them, “So maybe she isn’t Einstein, who cares it’s not like you’re planning on marrying her. Anyway, maybe she’s smarter then you think but you’ll never know if you don’t go over and talk to her.”
Spinelli gazed at him with awe. It was as though the bartender’s straightforward speech had triggered something within him which had long lay dormant. “The innkeeper speaks truly,” he said with a hint of his former vivacity, the two glasses of water he had consumed appeared to have cleared his head. “What is not attempted can then not be gained.” He spoke the words as though they were a mantra to give him courage.
Spinelli pushed himself off his stool and for a brief moment stood there frozen as he looked over at his insensible target. He was suddenly shy again, assailed by doubts and his list of reasons compiled earlier for why they ought to work out, be given a chance suddenly seemed specious and unreliable. He had neglected the most important comparison of all, she was a beautiful woman and he was a plain, socially awkward geek. Had he not already been down this life path more times than he could count, what would make this effort end any less dismally than his other endeavors at finding love?
Diane sighed as she watched Spinelli’s clearly signaled panic and indecision. It was obvious that he was perched precariously on the thin line between choosing either retreat or fleeing but he certainly was no longer inclined toward initiating a meeting with this unknown female. She didn’t know why her heart suddenly clutched so painfully in her chest. She wondered if mother birds felt this precise sensation when they were forced to push their fledglings out of the nest for their own good.
Reluctantly reaching over she gave Spinelli a gentle shove, “Go get her, Mr. Grasshopper.” He turned to look at her, his eyes holding all the questions she didn’t have the answers for but she smiled gamely at him, tears shimmering in her own eyes. “Go on,” she said indicating Brook Lynn with a sharp nod of her head, “Time waits for no man you know.”
Spinelli gave her that devastating smile, the one which would always ensure him love in this world from men and women alike and then he was gone. His steps were hesitant and unsure but his resolve was clearly indicated by his straight back and his forward aimed chin. She knew in her heart that he would do this tonight and if he failed then he would try another night and another because he believed in true love. It was the purity of faith that provided him with a resiliency of spirit which Diane could wish for herself, for everyone really. It was what she loved about him, what made him so special in her eyes and Jason’s and everyone who cared for him. She briefly wondered if someday Maxie might regret what she had so carelessly tossed aside but she fervently hoped and believed that by that point it wouldn’t matter to Spinelli anymore. By then she knew his quest would be ended and he would have found his just reward. Maybe, just maybe it would be this self contained brunette sitting on her own in a ramshackle bar completely unaware of how lucky she was about to be.
“If she hurts him,” Diane said her voice a low growl as she reached blindly behind her for the wine glass which Coleman obligingly placed in her hand, “I’ll scratch her eyes out.”
“Amen!” Coleman said for once in complete and total agreement with her sentiments.
Spinelli stood awkwardly before her, she was engrossed in a book but he couldn’t see the title as she had it folded back upon itself. Still, that was a hopeful sign, she was in a bar and choosing to read while drinking a single beer. He cleared his throat uneasily hoping that he wasn’t going to end the evening on an embarrassing note as she discarded him out of hand.
Brook Lynn looked up, surprised at the interruption, “Yes?” she said, her expression curious.
“Um, I…well, you don’t know me but the reverse isn’t true but oh, that doesn’t mean something unsavory or untoward. It’s just that you are associated with people we know in common and I couldn’t help but notice you in here when you have sung so very ardently and so very exquisitely…” Spinelli stammered to a stop. He stood there, his face beet red as he stared down at his feet waiting for her to laugh at him, clear, crystal notes of scorn, as was her perfect right after such an awful opening gambit on his part.
With one suede booted foot, Brook Lynn kicked out an empty chair in an unambiguous invitation for Spinelli to sit down. He grabbed for the chair and sat gratefully for his legs felt as though they would have given out at any moment. Still, he wouldn’t meet Brook Lynn’s quizzical gaze directed at his bowed head.
“So, let me get this straight,” she spoke in her definitive Bensonhurst accent, her voice lightly amused, “I don’t know you but you know me because we share mutual acquaintances and you think I sing like an angel.”
“Like a nightingale,” Spinelli corrected her in a low mumble.
She nodded in appreciation of the compliment, “Look at me,” Brook Lynn said not unkindly but without any room for dissension either. Spinelli reluctantly raised his head and stared at her, his green eyes shyly glowing from beneath his shaggy bangs. “What’s your name?”
He gulped and then straightened up as though determined to face a terrifying interrogation with integrity and courage, “Damian Spinelli but everyone calls me Spinelli.”
“You Italian?” She asked, generations of approving mothers, aunts and grandmothers echoing through her as she spoke.
Spinelli shook his head uncertainly, unable to dissimulate and risk ruining their relationship before it even began. “I don’t know,” he said, “It’s just my name, there’s no history associated with it.”
“Fair enough,” Brook Lynn conceded, she would worry about that side of things later. For right now she was surprised to find that this strange boy intrigued her and that on its own was refreshing. He wasn’t anything like the macho studs who usually came onto her. “So, Spinelli did you have something specific you wanted to ask me?”
He nodded his head as a flood of renewed shyness washed over him and he was once more staring at his feet when he made his request, “I wondered if you would care to accompany the Jackal that is me, in a duet…”
He trailed off, resigned to the fact that this exotic creature had indulged him more than he had any right to expect. He wondered with a vaguely masochistic curiosity if her tolerance would extend to her letting him down easily when she refused or if she would simply dismiss him with a careless wave of her hand and return to her book, forgetting his existence in a matter of mere moments.
Brook Lynn gazed with open interest at this changeling sitting before her. He was so shy it was practically a crippling condition. Yet, he still had the nerve to come introduce himself even though it was clear he expected to be rejected. What’s more his proposition intrigued her as well. He admitted to knowing that she sang well. ‘Like a nightingale’ he actually said and she quite liked that old fashioned imagery and still he was confident enough to suggest a duet. That must mean he sang pretty well himself. Since coming to Port Charles to do Carly’s underhanded bidding, Brook Lynn often found herself alone and bored since she didn’t have anyone to confide in but she wasn’t bored now.
“All right, let’s do it.” Brook Lynn stood up abruptly, her decision made. She slapped the book down on the table and waited for a stunned Spinelli to absorb the fact that she had actually accepted his invitation. He stood up slowly looking somewhat bewildered at this unanticipated outcome. “So,” she said, linking her arm in his and turning him toward the stage, “What’s all this about a jackal?”
Characters: Damian Spinelli, Coleman, Diane Miller, Brook Lynn Ashton
Words: ~4500
Rating: T
Summary: Spinelli's heart is once more broken but this time he seems to be learning as he at least listens and consults with some friends before once more leaping back into the metaphorical fire of romance
Picking up the Pieces
One thing was indisputable, she could sing, boy could she ever! Yet so could he and not half badly by all accounts. She was a brunette and maybe it was about time he turned in that direction anyway but getting back to the count, so was he. Eyes bluish green, his greenish-uh, just green but still that was all along the same spectrum color wise and certainly closer than stormy grey-blue or hazel which had been the previous default options. She was a Bensonhurst broad born and raised and he wasn’t, just some kid from Tennessee, but at least they both had Italian red running through their respective bloodstreams. Her last name might be officially Ashton but her Mom was a Cerullo and he after all, for what it was worth, was a Spinelli.
She was stunning, he’d seen that the first time her image flashed up on his computer screen when he was hunting her down on behalf of Carly’s revenge plan against Dante and Lulu. Yet, in person she was simply that much more striking. Those eyes, already inventoried, but now surrounded by dark silky lashes and sparkling with life were infinitely more alluring. Her hair cascaded down her back in a dark, silky shimmer while to choose between her ivory skin and raspberry colored lips, he didn’t think, as a biased observer, it was within his meager ability or even inclination to do so.
Still, there was the small issue of her accent, granted it grated on his ears but then again wasn’t that a good thing? One should search for the imperfection which kept an object from complete beauty for that was a state attainable only for supreme beings not mere mortals. He knew of cultures that supposedly believed so strongly in this precept that they placed intentional flaws into their creations-paintings, pottery, weavings and quilts. By creating these mildly defective pieces of art their aim was leave the concept of perfection totally within God’s hands wherein it perpetually belonged. If such a belief held fast for a culture’s crafts then how much more vital would it be to ensure that no single individual would have cause to bring a deity’s inimical gaze down upon their flawlessness so as to engender jealousy, covetousness or outright smiting.
Anyway, it sounded as rational and plausible a theorem as his whiskey soaked brain was capable of formulating at this particular juncture. Besides, his hearing was long inured to such aural indignities after more than two solid years of being subjected to Maxie’s less than dulcet tones for it even to be considered much of an issue.
He swiveled around unsteadily on his bar stool, altogether missing Coleman’s cautionary, “Whoa there cowboy, don’t want you slipping and hurting yourself.”
It was a self serving admonition as he wasn’t interested in getting sued or far worse looking up to see Jason Morgan storming into the bar and wanting to know how exactly it was that his protégé came to harm within the mob friendly environs of Jake’s. Coleman recognized that any argument on his behalf about the hacker being far too accident prone for his own good would be met by a glacial stare, a frowning stone cold visage and quite possibly a fist firmly implanted in his face. Nope, in the interests of self preservation and maintaining his manly good looks he was firmly on the side of prevention being the better part of valor.
“You’re officially cut off as of now, kid.” He said resolutely, ignoring the pleading puppy dog look being sent his way.
Coleman had already confiscated his car keys the minute the young man had sat down at the bar an hour ago and ordered whiskey instead of his much more harmless Nectar of the Gods. Spinelli on a sugar high he was used to but a drunk, morose Spinelli who quoted sad poetry and sighed deeply and often, caused Coleman to grit his teeth and mentally curse Maxie Jones for dumping the nerd. While that callous act might have been her prerogative she had absolutely no right leaving his heart broken carcass behind in Coleman’s bar while she went on her merry way flirting indiscriminately with every male in the city between the ages of eighteen and forty.
Tonight though was different. Coleman was an excellent bartender which made him a great observer of the human condition. Busy as he was serving drinks and keeping tabs on the potentially rowdy customers he hadn’t missed Spinelli’s pensive fascination with Brook Lynn Ashton. He could tell the kid was becoming infatuated. Self preservation caused him to briefly pause and wonder if this might somehow come back and bite him if Jason ever found out that he had a hand in it. Still, he determined for once in his selfish existence to put aside his policy of neutrality and play matchmaker. Coleman told himself it was simply because he was tired of the kid moping all over the place night after night, his deep depression being bad for business. Short of someone sticking bamboo shoots under his fingernails he wasn’t ever going to admit his sneaking fondness for the hapless hacker. Still, if anyone could use some of Coleman’s good as gold advice about how to win over the ladies it was this pathetic puddle of misery currently brooding at his bar.
“Look,” he leaned conspiratorially across the bar counter, the trademark white towel slung over his left shoulder, “I gotta give it to you, kid, you got great taste in the ladies.”
“I do?” Spinelli asked in mild astonishment as he blinked owlishly at the bartender.
“Yep, you do. Man that Maxie Jones, she sure is a fine specimen of womanly pulchritude…” Coleman winced and cursed under his breath. He realized that was absolutely the wrong thing to say as Spinelli’s green eyes filled with tears which threatened to overflow and roll down his cheeks at any moment. “Yeah,” he hastily started to amend his previous statement, scratching at his head in wild abandon as he tried desperately to think of what he ought to say next that might potentially stop the floodgates from opening fully. If the kid turned into a blubbering mess then there was absolutely no way he was going to score tonight. “She’s hot and all but…”
“She’s a complete and utter Jezebel.” The statement was made with incontrovertible authority in a crisp voice. Coleman and Spinelli stared in simultaneous bemusement at the intruder who had so forcefully inserted her unsought opinion into their private tête a tête.
“Just what I was going to say,” Coleman beamed in open relief at his unexpected savior, “What can I get you Ms. Miller?” He had almost broken the bartender’s golden rule by adding ‘on the house’ but he managed to catch himself in time.
“Zinfandel, dry and leave the bottle,” Diane bit off each word with assertive authority while her eyes never left the silent figure sitting next to her. “How are you doing, Mr. Grasshopper?” She asked the question in a gentle voice. Her tone was so entirely different from her usual staccato delivery that Coleman wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t heard it personally. She reached over and ran her hand through his mop of unruly, thick hair. “Bring Mr. Spinelli some sparkling water so he can re-hydrate and keep me company.”
The imperiousness was back and Coleman had to prevent himself from clicking his heels and speeding to do her bidding. Instead he paused for an insolent beat while he stared defiantly into Diane’s glittering eyes, one perfectly etched eyebrow raised in silent query as to why he was still standing there.
“Sure thing,” he finally drawled, slinging the towel down from his shoulder and wiping industriously at an invisible spill before bending down beneath the bar and searching for a couple of appropriate glasses.
“Don’t forget a twist of lemon,” she ordered determined to have the last word, her lip curled up slightly at his insubordination. “Odious man!” She said under her breath to an unresponsive Spinelli.
“She was, wasn’t she?” It was the first time since Diane had joined him that Spinelli had spoken. “A faithless Jezebel.”
His voice was thick with recrimination and sadness and she longed to lean over and hold him and rock him but that wasn’t her mission tonight. No, tonight was all about him letting go of that bleached blonde and Diane Miller was just the one to make sure it happened.
“A round heel of the first order, as you might say,” Diane stated in quiet collusion, “You are well shot of her and her perfidious ways.”
He shrugged and sent her a sad smile, a bare curvature of his lips while his eyes remained murky with melancholy. “Yet what does that make me but the most duped of men? For she treated me thus in such a dishonorable manner not once, not twice but at least three times if not most probably more. At such a dishonorable stage in a relationship the onus of shame clearly shifts from the deceiver to the deceived, to the Jackal himself.”
“Nonsense,” Diane said briskly as she accepted her glass of wine from a glowering Coleman with a well placed glare of her own, “It simply means you were too trusting of a man and that is a rare commodity indeed. Mr. Grasshopper, you are the injured party here and let no one, especially not your overly tender conscience, advise you differently. Let us toast to remaining virtuous in a world full of sin.”
She raised her wineglass and tipped it against Spinelli’s glass of carbonated water. He raised his own glass to his lips and took a reluctant sip of the liquid and then with a vague expression of surprise on his face drained the contents. “The Jackal did not realize how parched he was,” he said with a gasp as he put the empty glass down on the bar and swiped at his wet mouth with the back of his hand.
Coleman gave him a knowing look, “Yeah, when your diet consists primarily of alcohol and salty junk food your body dries out pretty quick.” He popped the cap on another bottle of water and poured the fluid into Spinelli’s glass. The hiss of escaping gas and the clink of displaced ice cubes were the only sounds for the moment as each member of the oddly assorted trio was quietly reflective.
“Would you like me to sue her for you, Mr. Grasshopper?” Diane offered eagerly leaning toward him as she suddenly recollected that she had some very specialized skills she could offer in his service.
“Sue Maximi…Maxie?” Spinelli looked a little dazed at the concept. “What good would that do?”
“Well, I think it is quite legally tenable predicated upon your rather unique arrangement of a ‘non-marriage’. I believe I could make a solid case for breach of contract and thus cause her to pay you some sizeable damages as well as having to cover my not insubstantial legal fees as well.” She smiled wickedly at both men, momentarily forgetting her disdain for Coleman’s boorish attitude in her self aggrandizement.
Coleman was looking at her with an expression of grudging admiration. “I’ve got to hand it to you that is kind of slick, Ms. Miller. It’s about time someone came up with a way to even the score with a cheatin’ woman and all nice and legal like too. Money is always a good balm for an aching heart.”
He raised his own bottle of beer in salute to her wily ways and Diane frowned at him, her former animosity back in full force. “Really, Mr. Coleman, you behave as though all the cheating that occurs in the world were to be laid solely at the feet of women whereas it is a proven fact that men stray much more frequently than their infinitely more superior partners.”
“Is that a fact, well let me just say that in my experience…” Coleman’s face was flushed as he started to retort but she cut him off brutally.
“Ha! Your experience!” Diane snarled at him, her lip actually lifting up to reveal a sharp, ivory colored incisor, “You sir, run a bar wherein you serve the lowest dregs of humanity on a daily basis. I am quite convinced you see equally scurrilous behavior on the part of all your patrons be they female or male. No, my contention holds, the male is lead around by his secondary ‘brain’,” she carved the quotation marks out in the air with her index fingers, before continuing her heated diatribe, “Whereas the softer, more emotionally labile woman is prey to her heart and thus will always be unequal in the ongoing battle of fidelity which plagues the sexes.”
Coleman snorted in disbelief, “That is how you see this one’s ex?” He jabbed a finger in Spinelli’s direction. The hacker was watching the argument unfold with mounting trepidation wondering what he had done to create such discord between the bartender and the lawyer. “All soft and misty eyed and done wrong by her man, like some poor girl featured in a country western song?”
“Miss. Jones,” Diane replied with icy precision, “Is one of those unfortunate females who happens by her very exception to prove the proverbial rule. In Mr. Grasshopper’s case,” she gave Spinelli’s bicep a supportive squeeze as he gazed in mute wonder at her, “He is clearly the wronged party and that is why I would gladly rake her bony derriere over legal coals to give him some sort of closure.” Diane sipped meditatively at her second glass of wine and then uttered words never heretofore heard falling from her lips, “To that most desirable end I would even work pro bono.” She wrapped her free arm protectively around the dark haired boy and laid her head on his shoulder in a surprisingly touching gesture of unguarded affection.
Finally, there was silence, the adversaries had each made their case and it appeared had nothing more to add. After a brief moment, Spinelli garnered the nerve to speak. “While the Jackal appreciates the brusque lady of justice’s fierce desire to avenge him through the rule of law he must regretfully decline the sincere offer of her undisputed talents.”
“Oh?” Diane raised her head and was looking at him with a distinct hurt expression apparent in the depths of her eyes. “Pray tell, why are you snubbing my most magnanimous offer, Mr. Grasshopper?”
He shrugged apologetically and smiled tentatively at her, “For it will not bring me the surcease I am searching for. The main result of such a legal attack will be to incite Maxie to a state of enraged fury of which I am ill equipped to be the target.”
“Don’t you fret about that,” Diane retorted, cold steel evident in her tone, “I’ll make sure the harpy doesn’t get within a thousand feet of you. After all,” she added airily, draining her glass and holding it out for Coleman to refill which he did with ill grace, “That’s what restraining orders are for.”
“Yes,” Spinelli agreed soberly, “But what matters riches for me and humiliation for Maxie when at the end of the day my status is unchanged. I would still be unalterably alone.”
“Well, weren’t you just about to make a move to change all that?” Coleman interjected as he nodded his head toward Brook Lynn who was still sitting by herself at a small table and nursing her beer.
“Oh, do tell, Mr. Grasshopper,” Diane said with renewed animation, “Is there a new prospect in your sights.”
She spun around on her bar stool in a very unsubtle attempt to establish which customer the two men were discussing. Her eye fell upon Brook Lynn who was clearly the lone candidate as she was the only unattended woman in Jake’s. “She’s very pretty,” Diane said uncertainly as she tried to decide if this girl would be a suitable transitional candidate for her broken hearted boy. “In a rather outré fashion that is,” she finally added, not at all sure she liked the looks of the sultry brunette.
“She is indeed beauteous and sings like a nightingale,” Spinelli sighed in a singularly besotted voice. He too had turned around and was once more staring at his potential paramour with the all too familiar signs of ready devotion etched upon his open countenance.
“Hmmph,” Diane said, discovering that perhaps she wasn’t quite prepared after all for Spinelli to move on to another romance. ‘It’s too soon,’ she thought to herself in silent rationalization. “You’ve heard her sing?” She asked neutrally.
“Yeah, the dude’s right, she has an outstanding set of pipes on her.” Coleman added his unsolicited two cents in the mistaken belief that he and the lady counselor were back on the same side of mending Spinelli’s broken heart by the oldest method in the book, getting him laid.
Diane quelled him with a hot glance and Coleman rolled his eyes in exasperation. “So, she’s good at karaoke,” she said dismissively, “I really think this time around you should focus on other less tangible features such as is she intelligent?” She turned to look at Spinelli, her head cocked inquiringly, “I mean correct me if I am wrong but wasn’t that something of a quality in which you and Maxie were far from matched?”
Spinelli stared ruefully at Brook Lynn who continued to be oblivious as they openly speculated about her intellect. He bit his bottom lip as he pondered Diane’s question. Eventually, he looked at her and nodded sorrowfully, “Indeed, the fact of Maxie being quite uninterested in and unaware of many of the Jackal’s intellectual pursuits and sometimes even ignorant of his very choice of words was an arena in which we did not always find a happy medium.” He gave a small humorless bark of laugher, “In my naiveté I simply presumed it would be a discrepancy eventually conquered by the all remedying power of love.”
“It’s not a small point of contention within a relationship,” Diane responded softly.
“No,” Spinelli shook his head empathetically, “It is not. Yet, the Jackal despairs of finding someone who will be able and willing to view the world through an equal prism of wonder and knowledge. Wise Georgie was the only such potential partner who met those stringent specifications and she…” He couldn’t manage to finish the thought, the memory was still too painful to contemplate. A somber silence descended over them as they all mused upon the tragedy of a young, sweet, smart, promising girl taken away from them by the hand of violence which was so pervasive in their city.
“Look,” Coleman was the first to break free of the solemn pall which overlay them, “So maybe she isn’t Einstein, who cares it’s not like you’re planning on marrying her. Anyway, maybe she’s smarter then you think but you’ll never know if you don’t go over and talk to her.”
Spinelli gazed at him with awe. It was as though the bartender’s straightforward speech had triggered something within him which had long lay dormant. “The innkeeper speaks truly,” he said with a hint of his former vivacity, the two glasses of water he had consumed appeared to have cleared his head. “What is not attempted can then not be gained.” He spoke the words as though they were a mantra to give him courage.
Spinelli pushed himself off his stool and for a brief moment stood there frozen as he looked over at his insensible target. He was suddenly shy again, assailed by doubts and his list of reasons compiled earlier for why they ought to work out, be given a chance suddenly seemed specious and unreliable. He had neglected the most important comparison of all, she was a beautiful woman and he was a plain, socially awkward geek. Had he not already been down this life path more times than he could count, what would make this effort end any less dismally than his other endeavors at finding love?
Diane sighed as she watched Spinelli’s clearly signaled panic and indecision. It was obvious that he was perched precariously on the thin line between choosing either retreat or fleeing but he certainly was no longer inclined toward initiating a meeting with this unknown female. She didn’t know why her heart suddenly clutched so painfully in her chest. She wondered if mother birds felt this precise sensation when they were forced to push their fledglings out of the nest for their own good.
Reluctantly reaching over she gave Spinelli a gentle shove, “Go get her, Mr. Grasshopper.” He turned to look at her, his eyes holding all the questions she didn’t have the answers for but she smiled gamely at him, tears shimmering in her own eyes. “Go on,” she said indicating Brook Lynn with a sharp nod of her head, “Time waits for no man you know.”
Spinelli gave her that devastating smile, the one which would always ensure him love in this world from men and women alike and then he was gone. His steps were hesitant and unsure but his resolve was clearly indicated by his straight back and his forward aimed chin. She knew in her heart that he would do this tonight and if he failed then he would try another night and another because he believed in true love. It was the purity of faith that provided him with a resiliency of spirit which Diane could wish for herself, for everyone really. It was what she loved about him, what made him so special in her eyes and Jason’s and everyone who cared for him. She briefly wondered if someday Maxie might regret what she had so carelessly tossed aside but she fervently hoped and believed that by that point it wouldn’t matter to Spinelli anymore. By then she knew his quest would be ended and he would have found his just reward. Maybe, just maybe it would be this self contained brunette sitting on her own in a ramshackle bar completely unaware of how lucky she was about to be.
“If she hurts him,” Diane said her voice a low growl as she reached blindly behind her for the wine glass which Coleman obligingly placed in her hand, “I’ll scratch her eyes out.”
“Amen!” Coleman said for once in complete and total agreement with her sentiments.
Spinelli stood awkwardly before her, she was engrossed in a book but he couldn’t see the title as she had it folded back upon itself. Still, that was a hopeful sign, she was in a bar and choosing to read while drinking a single beer. He cleared his throat uneasily hoping that he wasn’t going to end the evening on an embarrassing note as she discarded him out of hand.
Brook Lynn looked up, surprised at the interruption, “Yes?” she said, her expression curious.
“Um, I…well, you don’t know me but the reverse isn’t true but oh, that doesn’t mean something unsavory or untoward. It’s just that you are associated with people we know in common and I couldn’t help but notice you in here when you have sung so very ardently and so very exquisitely…” Spinelli stammered to a stop. He stood there, his face beet red as he stared down at his feet waiting for her to laugh at him, clear, crystal notes of scorn, as was her perfect right after such an awful opening gambit on his part.
With one suede booted foot, Brook Lynn kicked out an empty chair in an unambiguous invitation for Spinelli to sit down. He grabbed for the chair and sat gratefully for his legs felt as though they would have given out at any moment. Still, he wouldn’t meet Brook Lynn’s quizzical gaze directed at his bowed head.
“So, let me get this straight,” she spoke in her definitive Bensonhurst accent, her voice lightly amused, “I don’t know you but you know me because we share mutual acquaintances and you think I sing like an angel.”
“Like a nightingale,” Spinelli corrected her in a low mumble.
She nodded in appreciation of the compliment, “Look at me,” Brook Lynn said not unkindly but without any room for dissension either. Spinelli reluctantly raised his head and stared at her, his green eyes shyly glowing from beneath his shaggy bangs. “What’s your name?”
He gulped and then straightened up as though determined to face a terrifying interrogation with integrity and courage, “Damian Spinelli but everyone calls me Spinelli.”
“You Italian?” She asked, generations of approving mothers, aunts and grandmothers echoing through her as she spoke.
Spinelli shook his head uncertainly, unable to dissimulate and risk ruining their relationship before it even began. “I don’t know,” he said, “It’s just my name, there’s no history associated with it.”
“Fair enough,” Brook Lynn conceded, she would worry about that side of things later. For right now she was surprised to find that this strange boy intrigued her and that on its own was refreshing. He wasn’t anything like the macho studs who usually came onto her. “So, Spinelli did you have something specific you wanted to ask me?”
He nodded his head as a flood of renewed shyness washed over him and he was once more staring at his feet when he made his request, “I wondered if you would care to accompany the Jackal that is me, in a duet…”
He trailed off, resigned to the fact that this exotic creature had indulged him more than he had any right to expect. He wondered with a vaguely masochistic curiosity if her tolerance would extend to her letting him down easily when she refused or if she would simply dismiss him with a careless wave of her hand and return to her book, forgetting his existence in a matter of mere moments.
Brook Lynn gazed with open interest at this changeling sitting before her. He was so shy it was practically a crippling condition. Yet, he still had the nerve to come introduce himself even though it was clear he expected to be rejected. What’s more his proposition intrigued her as well. He admitted to knowing that she sang well. ‘Like a nightingale’ he actually said and she quite liked that old fashioned imagery and still he was confident enough to suggest a duet. That must mean he sang pretty well himself. Since coming to Port Charles to do Carly’s underhanded bidding, Brook Lynn often found herself alone and bored since she didn’t have anyone to confide in but she wasn’t bored now.
“All right, let’s do it.” Brook Lynn stood up abruptly, her decision made. She slapped the book down on the table and waited for a stunned Spinelli to absorb the fact that she had actually accepted his invitation. He stood up slowly looking somewhat bewildered at this unanticipated outcome. “So,” she said, linking her arm in his and turning him toward the stage, “What’s all this about a jackal?”