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Rafe: My God, H, he's whistling! (amazed) Henri: Who? (slightly curious) Rafe: Ellison. He's actually whistling! (really amazed) Henri: He must be in love. (throw away line, very sarcastic) Rafe: Oh, yeah? With who? (equally sarcastic) Henri: Whom. (statement of correction) Rafe: Okay, with "whom"? (really sarcastic) Henri: Like I should know? (dripping sarcasm) Rafe: Well, who do you think? (curious) Henri: Have you seen him with anyone new? (really curious now) Rafe: No-o-o-o. (thinking hard) Henri: Me either. Wait...that cute new blonde in records? (strain in jeans) Rafe: I'm dating her. (firm end of *that* subject) Henri: Didn't know, sorry Rafe. (not in the least sorry and he did too know) Rafe: Maybe it's Connor? (not likely) Henri: Not likely. (I'm hot for her myself) Rafe: Well, then, who? (god dammit) Henri: Uh, Rafe? (flabbergasted) Rafe: I know. He's humming now! (really flabbergasted) Henri: I know that song. Who's the artist? (senior moment) Rafe: Queen? (starting to laugh) Henri: Yeah.....(starts singing) Rafe: "Your My Best Friend" (joins the singing) Long, long, long pause: Henri: Sandburg? (barely stifled laughter) Rafe: Sandburg. (outright laughter) Henri: Sandburg? (no way) Rafe: Yep, Ellison's in love with Sandburg. (way) Henri: Sandburg? (incredulous) Rafe: Well, he is kinda cute. (thinking hard) Henri: Cute? (are you serious?) Rafe: Well, look at him. (see for yourself) Henri: Okaay...almost...beautiful? (I can't believe I said that) Rafe: Only almost? (are you serious?) Henri: Okay, beautiful. In a guy way. (I said that?) Rafe: Oh, yeah, a *very* guy way. (very) Henri: Yeah, very. (very-very) Ellison and Sandburg leave the bullpen. Ellison is still humming. They pass Simon in the hall: Simon: He is *way* too happy. (did he get lucky?) Rafe & Henri: Who? (in perfect unison) Simon: Ellison. He in love or something? (not likely) Rafe: We think so. (we know something you don't) Simon: I know that song he was humming. (don't I?) Rafe & Henri: It was Queen. (perfect unison again - wow) Simon: So? (do I know the title?) Rafe & Henri: "You're My Best Friend." (they're getting good at this unison thing) Simon: Oh, yeah. (they have been partners *way* too long) Rafe & Henri: Don't you want to know "who"? (we know! we know!) Simon: Okay, who? (partners way too long) Rafe & Henri: SANDBURG! (so there!) Simon: Sandburg? (well, he is cute) Henri: Captain, he is beautiful. (in a guy way) Rafe: Yeah, Captain, for a guy that is. (do I really want the blonde in records?) Simon: And your evidence for this assumption? (Take that!) Henri: He doesn't see anyone else, he doesn't go anywhere without him, they *do* everything together. (do I really want Connor?) Simon: So deductive reasoning says.....(I do believe they've got it) Rafe & Henri: Sandburg! (God, we're good) Simon: Ridiculous! Now get to work. (I wanted Sandburg!) Rafe & Henri: Yes Sir! (we've been partners way too long) Ellison and Sandburg have entered the lobby just as Connor and Rhonda approach the elevator. They exchange pleasantries and go their separate ways: Rhonda: My God, he was whistling...and humming! (amazed) Megan: Who? (who cares?) Rhonda: Jim, that's who. (really amazed) Megan: Ummm. (not interested) Rhonda: He must be in love. (who?) Megan: With who? (the bride of Frankenstein?) Rhonda: Whom. (statement of correction) Megan: With *whom*? (who'd have him?) Rhonda: I know you two don't get along, but come on, the man is one *hot* male. (fan me someone) Megan: Who? (ok, he's cute) Rhonda: MEGAN! (like she's blind?) Megan: Okay, he's cute. Anyone would be lucky to have him. (stuffed. mounted. on my wall) Rhonda: So, who do you think it is? (curious) Megan: Have you seen him with anyone? (other than Sandy) Rhonda: No-o-o-o (thinking hard) Megan: The new blonde in records? (Sandy) Rhonda: Nope, Rafe's dating her. (the bitch) Megan: Well, there's really only one other....that he is with...all the time. (she can't see the forest for the trees) Rhonda: Yes.s.s.s? (Blair? My Blair?) Megan: Well? (she's gonna faint) Rhonda: Blair? (My Blair?) Megan: Blair. (come on, open those pretty eyes of yours) Rhonda: Blair and Jim? (My * Blair?) Megan: It's as obvious as the nose on your face. (and such a pretty nose, such a pretty face) Rhonda: I can't believe I didn't see it. (gee, Megan has pretty eyes) Megan: Well, you know....the forest for the trees? (I just love her accent) Rhonda: Lunch, Megan? (love her accent) Megan: Sure. (and......?)
WHAT: Ellison and Sandburg in the truck: Blair: What are you humming? (dare you to tell me) Jim: Don't know. Nothing. (uh,oh.) Blair: Come on, Jim, what is it? (dare you) Jim: I don't know, it's nothing, really. (double uh, oh) Blair: It sounds very familiar. (you'll never say it) Jim: What are you doing tonight? (change the subject, that always works) Blair: What am I doing tonight? (changing the subject never works, but I'll give you this one) Jim: Watch my lips, Sandburg: What..are...you doing...tonight? (infinite patience) Blair: Um, nothing. (what you got in mind) Jim: No papers to grade? (am I about to ask him out?) Blair: No-o-o-o (is he about to ask me out?) Jim: Ummmm. (ummm) Blair: Ummmmm (if I stripped and rolled on the floor of the truck, would he notice?) Jim: So, you're not doing anything. I'm not doing anything. (clear as mud) Blair: What about that new blonde in records? She was giving you the eye. (the bitch) Jim: Rafe is dating her. Besides, she's not my type. (too blonde, too tall, hair too short) Blair: What exactly is your type? (short? long hair? anthropologist?) Jim: I don't really have a type. (short. long hair. an anthropologist) What about you? (tall? cop? man?) Blair: What about me? (here it comes, table leg remarks) Jim: What's *your* type? (tall? cop? man?) Blair: You *know* I don't have a type. (tall. cop. body of the gods) Jim: Okay, if you could describe the perfect woman for you.....what would you describe? (stupid, stupid, stupid) Blair: Well....trust is pretty important. And a sense of duty, honor, noble....(oh, man, I just described a German Shepherd) Jim: Uh, Sandburg, you just described a German Shepherd. (or me?) Blair: Okay, what would you describe? (so there) Jim: So, Chief, what do you want to do tonight? (change the subject....again.) Blair: That was smooth, Jim. Real smooth. And such a subtle change of subject. (shit) Jim: What can I say? No way I could top your German Shepherd. (top, oh yeah) Blair: Very funny, I'm rolling in the aisle here. (Jim? Top? Oh yeah.) Jim: So? What do you want to do? (roll in the hay? get nailed? mate?) Blair: Go to the pound and get us a couple of German Shepherds? (roll in the hay? get nailed? mate?) Jim: I just joined you in the aisle, Chief. HaHa! (he is *so* cute) Blair: Well, what do you want to do? (mate? with me? now?) Jim: I don't know, what do you want to do? (mate? with me? now) Blair: You know...we could play this all night. You know what I'd really like to do? (mate. with you. now) Jim: What? (mate? with me? now?) Blair: Now don't laugh. Miniature golf. (mating is out so go to plan B) Jim: Miniature golf? (mating is out so go to plan B) Blair: Yes. Hot dogs, popcorn, pizza, bumper cars, boats, speedway and I will kick your butt from one end of the course to the other. (plan B, at least his butt is in there somewhere) Jim: You kick *my* butt? Not likely. You won't know what hit you, Chief. (his butt? wiggling during a putt? Oh yeah.)
WHERE: At the miniature golf course: Jim: It goes *where*? (I'd like to see him do it) Blair: My God, Jim, I'd no idea this was your first time. (I * will * not * laugh) Jim: Just tell me where it goes. (smart ass) Blair: See the little hole? Down there? That's where you put it. (he is *so* gonna kill me) Jim: Sandburg, I *know* that. But where.... (smart ass, cute ass) Blair: Jim. Ball. Club. Aim. Putt. Hole. (infinite patience) Jim: Butt? Did you say Butt? (he wouldn't) Blair: Putt. P * U * T * T. (putz) Jim: Look, I do golf, you know that...but this isn't golf...this is stupid. The lights, the noise, the distractions....I mean...that building. Explain that building. (whine) Blair: That's a castle, Jim. A pink castle. With turret's. You hit the ball, um..speaking of balls, Jim, why did you chose a pink ball? (if I tease him much more....) Jim: You have a problem with a pink ball, Sandburg? (I like pink) Blair: Oh, hey, no...pink is great. Stands out real good against the green background. (he's blushing) Jim: Could we get back to the ball? (balls. His) Blair: Right, balls. I mean, ball. So, anyway, the ball....you're *pink* ball, goes up the drawbridge and you get a hole in one. See? (balls, hole, mine) Jim: And that path? Where does it go? (I wonder if I can get him to show me? That wiggle) Blair: That's where your ball....your *pink* ball, will go if you miss the hole in one. (I like it if he blushes) Jim: You really have a problem with my pink ball, don't you? (he's so cute when he's flustered) Blair: No, really, pink is good. Cool, really. I'm glad you're comfortable enough to, um, choose, a pink....ball, really. Cool. (I'm a grown man, I will not giggle) Jim: You're sniggering. And your ball, Sandburg? Care to explain the color of your ball? (Ha! He's blushing) Blair: It's called....Fuschia. (damn) Jim: And fuschia is exactly..... (gotcha) Blair: Uh, well...kinda red. (he is *so* not buying this) Jim: Sorry, did you say....red? I thought it was more, I don't know....maybe...bright pink? (he is now blushing in fuschia) Blair: Hit the damn ball, James! (smart ass) THWACK! Jim: Hey, where did the ball go? (shit) Blair: It's over there. (shit, I hope it didn't hit anyone) Jim: Where? (where?) Blair: Excuse me....but you're the sentinel here. (jeesh) Jim: Do you see the ball or not, wise guy? (umph) Blair: It's on hole #9. (and we are on hole #1) Jim: oh. Blair: Nice drive, Jim. Of course, in miniature golf, the object is putting.....you know, keeping the ball "on the ground". But hey, it looks like you made a hole in one! (I just love living on the edge)
LATER: Jim: Where's the scorecard? (does he have to be so good at everything?) Blair: Oh, you don't really want to see the scorecard, do you Jim? (I, of course, plan to frame it) Jim: Where's the damn scorecard, Sandburg! (like he could beat me by much) Blair: Here. (read it and weep) Jim: This score is wrong, Chief. Where are all my hole-in-ones? (I swear, he cheats) Blair; Uh, Jim.....(tact) Jim: Where's the hole in one I got on #5? (Uh?) Blair: Well....we were *on* #7 at the time. (I want a tasteful funeral) Jim: Oh. Okay, where's the one on #10? (I *know* I made that one) Blair: We were on....#3 at the time. (and if they play "My Heart Will Go On" I will personally haunt them all) Jim: Okay, okay...I know I made a hole in one on #18. (didn't I?) Blair: Yeah, you made that one alright...except we were on course #2, hole #18 and you sunk hole #18 on course #3.....(I really should give him that one...It *was* a hell of a shot!) Jim: Oh. So. You won. (and I lost) Blair: So it would appear. (he lost) Jim: So. You gonna collect the bet? (holding breath) Blair: Jim, breathe. (yeah, I'm gonna collect) Jim: Oh, yeah, breathe. (so? are you?) Blair: So, I'm the winner....you're the loser. So, where do you want to do it? Finis |