"I can't believe you!" said Thom to Bree Monday afternoon. He had just heard the news from Jesse, who--always the good friend--had called to "get something off my chest." "But she kissed me first!" Jesse had insisted, ending the conversation as quickly as possible. No use beating these things to the ground, Jesse had thought.
Still, Jesse knew Thom would be mad, and was glad he was not around to bear the brunt of it. It's Bree's fault; let her deal with it, thought Jesse.
And dealing with it she was.
"You can't believe ME?" replied Bree, incredulous. "You're the one who invited your ex-girlfriend, who CLEARLY still has a thing for you, to stay at your place indefinitely! How do you think I feel?" Bree hated to lose arguments, especially when she knew she was wrong.
"Bree, you know I have no interest in Rachel," Thom replied.
Bree shook her head. "I have no interest in Jesse," she lied, hoping if she said it out loud she could convince herself it was true.
Thom looked away.
"Oh Bree," he said, his voice shaking. He turned back towards her and took her hand. "I really like you," he said. "But I'm 29 years old. I'm too old to be fooling around with some girl who likes me sometimes, and then makes out with my friends." He looked at his shoes.
"I'm sorry Bree," continued Thom. "I just can't do this anymore."
Bree Dawson, pretty girl that she was, was not used to being dumped. She tried not to let it bother her, to think about other, happier things...but it was tough. As much as Bree hated to admit it, there was something about having a boyfriend that made her feel secure--safe even. She liked walking through life knowing there was someone watching out for her--not to mention a companion to listen to all of her crazy ideas.
Immediately her thoughts flickered back to Jesse. She shooed them away, irritated.
No! Bree thought to herself. Jesse is not dating material. Besides, she was pretty sure he was still involved with Lulu...
As her thoughts wandered, Bree's phone rang. Unknown number. She picked it up, tentatively.
"Bree? Bree Dawson?" came a masculine voice. Bree struggled to place it. "This is Jack Lemon. Boy do I have a proposal for you!"
"Jack?" Bree's voice cracked. It had been ages since she'd spoken to the infamous Manhattan socialite. What could he possibly want?
"Yeah, it's me," continued Jack. "And guess what I just scored?" He waited 3 seconds, then continued: "A reality tv show! And you, Bree Dawson, are going to be one of my stars."
Sesame Street movie, Don't Eat the Pictures, where they get locked in the
museum and Big Bird and Snufflupagus find this Egyptian Prince who becomes
a star in the sky, and they sing this song called "You're gonna be a star", only
they mean it literally? Anyone?
If Reid Pinkin had learned anything from his dealings with Marilyn and Jesse, it was that people aren't always who they appear to be. Sometimes, you underestimate them. He also finally realized that every problem eventually runs its course, and when it ends (when it FINALLY ends, thought Reid), it's best to leave well enough alone.
"Hey man, I appreciate all you've done for me, but I really gotta split now," said Reid Pinkin to his cousin Weinstein Tuesday morning, after delivering the half-kilo and name of the spy. "It's better for the both of us."
Reid had no regrets. He had needed Weinstein--in the past--to help him get back on his feet: addiction-free, and purposeful. But now he was all those things, and his use for Weinstein had ended.
"Where are you going?" his cousin had asked, still convinced that Reid wouldn't actually leave. But for the first time in many years, Reid was determined.
"I'm not sure yet," said Reid. "Maybe Jersey."
He thought again about Marilyn, and how supportive her friends always seemed, like real people, that cared about her.
I need to find some people like that, thought Reid.
Tuesday afternoon, 4 o'clock. For the second time that month, Weinstein Pinkin and Dan Bernstein were enjoying cordials on the roof deck of Bernstein's apartment. But this time, their party contained a third: Ronald Harris, a young lawyer who Pinkin hoped would fill in for his missing cousin Reid.
"So you're the guy who beat up Sazz?" asked Weistein for confirmation, circling the rim of his highball glass with his index finger. "And somehow finagled yourself out of a trial?" He glanced at Harris sternly, as if to be sure.
"Yeah that's right," replied Harris impishly. "It just so happens the prosecutor is a good friend of mine."
Pinkin smiled. "Well done," he said. "I'm very impressed. You'll make a fine member of the team."
Bernstein cleared his throat. "What I want to know..." he began, pausing as if to make a grand statement, then continuing with a grin. "Is what exactly does the wayward Reid expect he will do with his life? He's not going to move to New Jersey and work at the supermarket, is he?" Bernstein guffawed, and within seconds, Pinkin and Harris joined in.
"At least his doofus older brother has the brains to stay here, where he's protected!" continued Bernstein, and the trio laughed some more, knocking back drinks as they celebrated their cleverness and success.
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