CHAPTER 8 - PAYING THE PIPER

[jrtllf01]

This chapter has been moved to the new archive board.

[giovanna]

Jul 28, 2009 20:15:59 GMT -5 jrtllf01 said:

No mistake about it; today simply had not been a good day for Ridge. When he was brought to the jail, he went through an intake process that was both demoralizing and dehumanizing. It involved obtaining his personal information and having to relinquish all money and personal property and turning it over to the Inmate Property Clerk. The only thing he was allowed to keep was his wedding band. The Marone ring was treated like a cheap trinket and sealed with Ridge’s other personal property, including his wallet, watch, belt and money. He had mug shots taken from various angles and was fingerprinted like a common criminal. Like a prized pig at a county fair, Ridge was thoroughly examined for scars, tattoos or other marks. He was told that this was to help identify him. All marks were noted by the security staff on a form that was kept in his file. Then, horror of horrors, Ridge endured the indignity of a strip search, including a full cavity search. He angrily protested, feeling it was highly unnecessary.

“I’m not a drug dealer or some thug!” He had yelled.

“It’s standard procedure, Richie Rich!” the guard sneered with his hand on his billy club. “So shut your yap and spread ‘em!”

Ridge had little doubt about what he was being asked to “spread,” and he was appalled. But “spread ‘em” he did, convinced that the guards got some kind of sick thrill out of the whole thing. Not only was he appalled, he felt violated.

Just that morning, he had awoken in the lavishly decorated master suite of his Bel Air home. Last night, he had slept in a king-sized bed made with the most expensive of linens. When he stood, his feet touched nothing but the plushest of carpets. He had padded into his Italian marbled bathroom and took it for granted that when he stepped into the shower or used the toilet, they would both be clean, sanitary and immaculate. The only person’s germs he had to worry about were his own. Most important, he had all the privacy he needed and could do what he needed to do without prying eyes.

In this miserable place, the jail looked, felt and smelled like an institution. The smell of some industrial-strength disinfectant permeated the air and almost made Ridge sick. Carpet? No such thing existed, at least not where Ridge was temporarily housed. The floor was cold and although it looked clean, Ridge was not willing to take his chances. Ridge’s eyes had widened in horror when he saw something scurrying across the floor. Was that a cockroach he saw? As for using the bathroom—much less a clean one—that was a joke. Earlier, Ridge was grateful that he could finally relieve himself only to receive a shock when the “bathroom” consisted of a single toilet bowl with a wash basin with a cheap bar of generic soap nearby. Even worse, the toilet was exposed where everyone could see him.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he had asked the guard after being locked in his cell.

“It’s right behind you,” the guard responded with a smirk.

“What?! What am I supposed to do with that?” Ridge complained.

“Look, you can pee on yourself, use it for what it’s intended, or use it as a flower pot.”

Since he needed to use the bathroom long before he arrived at the jail, he could not even fake the funk. However, Ridge kept a sharp eye out for any leering inmates who might want to see what kind of “equipment” he was working with.

And, don’t even get him started on the food, Ridge bitterly thought. The smells of fresh turkey bacon, toast and coffee typically greeted him in the mornings when he went downstairs to the kitchen. If he wanted, he could add oatmeal, a poached egg, cereal, fresh fruit or something else to his breakfast. Lunch and dinner could be as simple or as elaborate as he wanted. He had the option of dining out, having Catherine whip something up or ordering in. In this hell hole, he was treated to a “meal” that he would not have even given to a dog. Ridge frowned in disgust when he was given a “meal” consisting of a stale prepackaged ham sandwich, an apple, a small carton of juice and a Twinkie for dessert.

“What the hell is this?” Ridge had snootily asked the guard.

“What the f*ck do you think it is?” the guard frowned in annoyance. He was sick of these rich boys coming in here and turning their pampered noses up at everything. Evidently, they could do the crime, but when it came to doing the time, their asses started sniveling. “It’s dinner. I know it’s not up to your usual high standards but this ain’t exactly the Hilton. Bon appétit!” The guard laughed as he walked off.

Ridge had been confronted with two choices: either go on a hunger strike or eat. Given that he had not eaten since that morning and that he was about to pass out from hunger, Ridge realized he needed to get something in his stomach.

Even something as simple as picking up the phone and using it whenever he felt like it now seemed like a luxury. Instead, he had to ask for permission and then wait his turn like everybody else. Ridge sighed deeply when he recalled his nearly tearful phone call to his mother.

FLASHBACK:

“Oh, Ridge!” Stephanie practically sobbed. “Honey, how are you? Are they treating you okay in there? They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”

“Come on, Mother—don’t start that. I’m okay. I just need to get the hell out of here,” an antsy Ridge said. “Are you or Dad coming to get me out?”

“Your father—well, I didn’t get any answer from him,” Stephanie claimed, “but Massimo is coming and he’s taken care of everything,” Stephanie reassured Ridge.

“When, Mother?” Ridge asked, trying not to whine. The last thing he wanted was to be perceived as a punk. “I can’t stay in here another minute; I need to get out of here now!”

“Honey, just hold on. I promise that you’ll be back home sooner than you think.”

:)LOL! I love it. How the mighty have fallen!

I have read this section before, but I never get tired of reading about Ridge and his getting arrested.

[jrtllf01]

Jul 29, 2009 13:17:24 GMT -5 giovanna said:

Jul 28, 2009 20:15:59 GMT -5 jrtllf01 said:

No mistake about it; today simply had not been a good day for Ridge. When he was brought to the jail, he went through an intake process that was both demoralizing and dehumanizing. It involved obtaining his personal information and having to relinquish all money and personal property and turning it over to the Inmate Property Clerk. The only thing he was allowed to keep was his wedding band. The Marone ring was treated like a cheap trinket and sealed with Ridge’s other personal property, including his wallet, watch, belt and money. He had mug shots taken from various angles and was fingerprinted like a common criminal. Like a prized pig at a county fair, Ridge was thoroughly examined for scars, tattoos or other marks. He was told that this was to help identify him. All marks were noted by the security staff on a form that was kept in his file. Then, horror of horrors, Ridge endured the indignity of a strip search, including a full cavity search. He angrily protested, feeling it was highly unnecessary.

“I’m not a drug dealer or some thug!” He had yelled.

“It’s standard procedure, Richie Rich!” the guard sneered with his hand on his billy club. “So shut your yap and spread ‘em!”

Ridge had little doubt about what he was being asked to “spread,” and he was appalled. But “spread ‘em” he did, convinced that the guards got some kind of sick thrill out of the whole thing. Not only was he appalled, he felt violated.

Just that morning, he had awoken in the lavishly decorated master suite of his Bel Air home. Last night, he had slept in a king-sized bed made with the most expensive of linens. When he stood, his feet touched nothing but the plushest of carpets. He had padded into his Italian marbled bathroom and took it for granted that when he stepped into the shower or used the toilet, they would both be clean, sanitary and immaculate. The only person’s germs he had to worry about were his own. Most important, he had all the privacy he needed and could do what he needed to do without prying eyes.

In this miserable place, the jail looked, felt and smelled like an institution. The smell of some industrial-strength disinfectant permeated the air and almost made Ridge sick. Carpet? No such thing existed, at least not where Ridge was temporarily housed. The floor was cold and although it looked clean, Ridge was not willing to take his chances. Ridge’s eyes had widened in horror when he saw something scurrying across the floor. Was that a cockroach he saw? As for using the bathroom—much less a clean one—that was a joke. Earlier, Ridge was grateful that he could finally relieve himself only to receive a shock when the “bathroom” consisted of a single toilet bowl with a wash basin with a cheap bar of generic soap nearby. Even worse, the toilet was exposed where everyone could see him.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he had asked the guard after being locked in his cell.

“It’s right behind you,” the guard responded with a smirk.

“What?! What am I supposed to do with that?” Ridge complained.

“Look, you can pee on yourself, use it for what it’s intended, or use it as a flower pot.”

Since he needed to use the bathroom long before he arrived at the jail, he could not even fake the funk. However, Ridge kept a sharp eye out for any leering inmates who might want to see what kind of “equipment” he was working with.

And, don’t even get him started on the food, Ridge bitterly thought. The smells of fresh turkey bacon, toast and coffee typically greeted him in the mornings when he went downstairs to the kitchen. If he wanted, he could add oatmeal, a poached egg, cereal, fresh fruit or something else to his breakfast. Lunch and dinner could be as simple or as elaborate as he wanted. He had the option of dining out, having Catherine whip something up or ordering in. In this hell hole, he was treated to a “meal” that he would not have even given to a dog. Ridge frowned in disgust when he was given a “meal” consisting of a stale prepackaged ham sandwich, an apple, a small carton of juice and a Twinkie for dessert.

“What the hell is this?” Ridge had snootily asked the guard.

“What the f*ck do you think it is?” the guard frowned in annoyance. He was sick of these rich boys coming in here and turning their pampered noses up at everything. Evidently, they could do the crime, but when it came to doing the time, their asses started sniveling. “It’s dinner. I know it’s not up to your usual high standards but this ain’t exactly the Hilton. Bon appétit!” The guard laughed as he walked off.

Ridge had been confronted with two choices: either go on a hunger strike or eat. Given that he had not eaten since that morning and that he was about to pass out from hunger, Ridge realized he needed to get something in his stomach.

Even something as simple as picking up the phone and using it whenever he felt like it now seemed like a luxury. Instead, he had to ask for permission and then wait his turn like everybody else. Ridge sighed deeply when he recalled his nearly tearful phone call to his mother.

FLASHBACK:

“Oh, Ridge!” Stephanie practically sobbed. “Honey, how are you? Are they treating you okay in there? They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”

“Come on, Mother—don’t start that. I’m okay. I just need to get the hell out of here,” an antsy Ridge said. “Are you or Dad coming to get me out?”

“Your father—well, I didn’t get any answer from him,” Stephanie claimed, “but Massimo is coming and he’s taken care of everything,” Stephanie reassured Ridge.

“When, Mother?” Ridge asked, trying not to whine. The last thing he wanted was to be perceived as a punk. “I can’t stay in here another minute; I need to get out of here now!”

“Honey, just hold on. I promise that you’ll be back home sooner than you think.”

:)LOL! I love it. How the mighty have fallen!

I have read this section before, but I never get tired of reading about Ridge and his getting arrested.

It's amazing how things can so quickly spiral out of control, isn't it? I suspect that Ridge is genuinely surprised at how his day has turned out--and all because he wouldn't take no for an answer.

[jrtllf01]

Judge Richard Day had been plagued by a tightness in his chest for nearly a week now. However, he ignored it and thought it was nothing more serious than heartburn. Consequently, he refused to seek medical attention even when the pain moved to his neck, left shoulder and then his arm. Always physically active, he played racquetball six days a week and usually rested on the seventh day. He enjoyed healthy, well-balanced meals and typically vacationed two weeks with his wife, Deanna, every year at the Canyon Ranch in Arizona. He and Deanna also took a month-long holiday in Europe with their children and often went on skiing vacations in Deer Valley, Utah. He had just had his annual physical a mere two weeks ago and was declared to be fit and in excellent health.

Judge Day had already left the Los Angeles County Courthouse at the end of another grueling day when Massimo Marone contacted him seeking a favor. Truth be told, Judge Day was at the downtown Los Angeles condominium of his current mistress, Gabriela, when he received Massimo’s call. He listened intently to Massimo’s request and nodded. Typically, a hearing magistrate would have handled Ridge Forrester’s bail hearing, but Massimo insisted that Judge Day handle the hearing as a favor. Massimo made it clear that he did not want Ridge waiting his turn in line with "the riffraff." Not only that, he wanted Judge Day to make the matter simply go away. Judge Day had nodded and assured Massimo that the two of them were on the same page.

Although he could recite the California Code of Judicial Ethics backwards, Judge Day was not shy about doing favors for those who threw a little bit of money his way. He had already faced complaints from ethics watchdogs who had criticized his refusal to recuse himself from cases where he accepted “gifts” from litigants and other interested parties. Despite several close calls, he had continued to flout the canons to which he was bound. In this instance, he was prepared to release Ridge Forrester on his own personal recognizance. He was also going to preside over his later arraignment and would pre-sign an order that would have effectively dismissed the action. As for the young woman who precipitated all this, she could cry a river as far as he was concerned. Undoubtedly, the prosecutor would bitch and moan about the outcome, but at the end of the day, Judge Day knew he would have the final say. Judge Day could not help smirking. Any prosecutor who objected would be a fool to do so. Although Judge Day would never overtly threaten to retaliate against anyone who did not play ball, he would make it clear that objecting to the dismissal of this case would be a foolish—and short-sighted—decision. He could have cared less about the ends of justice. If Massimo Marone wanted Ridge Forrester to go home, then so be it.

Judge Day was well aware of other attempts to have him investigated and removed from office for an alleged pattern of misconduct that included numerous abuses of contempt power that he invoked against lawyers who pissed him off. He was even once accused of holding “bargain days” where he only imposed one-half of a sentence on defendants pleading guilty on those particular days. He had also been known to arbitrarily increase the bail of defendants who dared to complain about their rights being violated. But, that’s why he had an ethics lawyer, Judge Day had shrugged. He was always able to avoid being found guilty of judicial misconduct or being censured, much less suspended or removed from the bench altogether.

Although he had received his marching orders from Massimo, Judge Day and his mistress, Gabriela, engaged in another round of vigorous lovemaking. Fully sated, Judge Day left his mistress’ bed and headed to the bathroom to shower and change so that he could go back to court for this emergency hearing on Ridge’s behalf. He stepped in the shower stall and turned the hot water on and stood under the spray. Gabriela, feeling a bit miffed because he would not be spending the night, decided to join him in the shower in an attempt to change his mind.

“What are you doing?” Judge Day laughingly asked his comely companion as she manipulated him.

“I just want to make love to you one last time,” Gabriela purred.

Unfortunately, neither of them had no idea how prophetic her words were. As Judge Day lifted his companion onto his body, he felt that familiar tightness in his chest. However, the pains were much sharper this time, and he could not totally ignore them. He gasped several times and cried out. Gabriela foolishly thought he was about to reach his plateau and redoubled her efforts. However, Judge Day fell backward against the stall and lost his grip, which caused his mistress to unceremoniously fall on her fanny.

“OW! Richard, what’s wrong with you!” The put-out Gabriela demanded.

In response, she received more gasping as Judge Day gripped his chest, lost his balance and sank to the floor of the shower stall. “Gabriela,” he moaned, “I can’t—I can’t breeeeeeathe!”

Only then, did Gabriela finally get it that her lover was having a massive coronary. “Oh, my God! Richard! Richard! Please don’t you dare die on meeeeeee!” she shrieked in horror as she repeatedly pressed against his chest.

...

Judge Richard Day’s untimely death shocked all those who loved—and loathed—him. His wife, Deanna, who was at turns grief stricken and yet relieved that her husband left her a wealthy widow and saved her the trouble of divorcing him. His mistress, Gabriela, who suddenly found herself homeless after being evicted by Deanna Day from the condo; although Judge Day purchased the condo as a gift for Gabriela, he neglected to title it in her name. The Los Angeles County legal community, which was somewhat relieved that the governor could now appoint a more worthy jurist to the bench. The numerous defendants, who suddenly found their cases under review when the truth about Judge Day’s abuses of power were publicized.

However, several people would not be happy about Judge Day’s passing, including the doctor who had misdiagnosed his heart condition and Ridge’s biological parents.

_______________

Massimo strutted into the Beverly Hills police precinct like a man accustomed to being in charge. Even in a town where the denizens were used to be treated like royalty, Massimo came across as pompous and arrogant. He sniffed the air around him with disdain, acting as if the air reeked of urine. He moved his big body in a way that made it more than obvious that this place and the people working there were beneath him. Massimo’s mannerisms were not lost on the desk clerk, or any of the other policemen and detectives nearby. Even by Beverly Hills’ hoity-toity standards, this guy was an arrogant prick, one of them thought.

However, Massimo could have cared less if others’ sensibilities were offended by his manner. Right now, his mission was to get his son home where he belonged. Ridge needed a good night’s sleep in his own bed so that he would be fresh and ready for Marone Industries’ emergency board meeting tomorrow. Then most importantly, he and the boy’s mother would need to immediately begin deprogramming him so that he could stop obsessing about that Valley tart, an irritated Massimo silently fumed. Oh, how he looked forward to retreating to the privacy of his office and updating his electronic charts to document Brooke Logan’s latest act of terror! But first things …

“Yeah? May I help you?” A lovely brunette receptionist asked, barely looking up from her typing.

“I’m here to retrieve Ridge Forrester from this Godforsaken place,” Massimo loftily announced in his deep, booming voice.

At this, the receptionist stopped typing and paid closer attention to Massimo. “Do you have Mr. Forrester’s documentation from the bail bondsman, sir?” she politely asked.

“What documentation?” Massimo angrily demanded, immediately bristling at not having his wish treated like the command it was.

“Well, sir,” the receptionist patiently began, “we can’t just release him into your custody just based on your say-so. I’m not aware of Mr. Forrester appearing before a magistrate yet. We need official notification from the bail bondsman that Mr. Forrester was bonded out. Or, we need something from the hearing magistrate indicating that he was released on his own personal recognizance.”

“Young lady, do you know who I am?” Massimo asked, puffing himself up like a toad.

“No, I do not,” the receptionist replied. Nor did she want to know. By now, she was good and pissed. She might get fired for speaking up, but enough was enough. “Right now, you are someone who is shockingly rude and quite demanding especially for someone who’s here to pick up an inmate.”

“WHERE is your boss?!” an outraged Massimo bellowed. “I want to speak to him or her—NOW!”

“Fine,” the receptionist replied. She immediately picked up the telephone receiver and pressed an intercom button. “I’m sorry for bothering you, Sarge, but a Massimo Maroneeee is here to retrieve Ridge Forrester, and there seems to be a bit of a problem.” The receptionist then hung up the phone and resumed typing.

“Well?” Massimo asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Someone will be with you in a few minutes,” the receptionist replied without looking up. “You can have a seat.”

“I would rather stand,” Massimo dismissively replied.

After a few minutes, Sergeant Jeffrey Small appeared along with Officer Winston Powell. Officer Powell had stayed behind to type up his report of that day’s events and could not help but be interested in seeing who was there to pick up the prisoner who had generated so much media attention. The receptionist stopped typing long enough to nod her head in Massimo’s direction.

“Good evening, Mr. Marone,” Sergeant Small greeted Massimo. He then extended his hand only to not have the courtesy returned. “WOW! I guess not,” he coolly remarked.

“I’m not here for a garden party,” Massimo rudely stated. “I told this girl here that I’m here to pick up Mr. Forrester, and she’s giving me some song and dance about some paperwork.”

“Um, why don’t you have a seat so that we can talk, Mr. Marone,” Sergeant Small suggested.

After much huffing and puffing and some serious eye rolling, Massimo made a show of barely deigning to sit in the chair offered to him. He sat on the edge of the chair as if he expected to contract a bad case of scabies. His gesture did not go unnoted by Officer Powell.

“Well now, wait a minute, Sarge,” he drawled. “Why don’t we wipe the chair down and spray the whole station with Lysol so that Mr. Marone doesn’t contaminate himself.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Sergeant Small agreed. “I would offer you some water or a soft drink, Mr. Marone, but I imagine that imported champagne is more your speed.”

“Look, gentlemen, I didn’t come here for a fight,” Massimo said, pursing his lips in disgust. “I just want to get Mr. Forrester and take him home. Now, WHERE is he?!”

“Well, if you must know, he’s still here in a holding cell. At some point this evening or early tomorrow morning, he will be remanded to the custody of the Sheriff’s Dept. and taken to the IRC—the Inmate Reception Center over on Bauchet Street.”

Massimo reacted as if the wind had been knocked clean out of him. This is exactly what he was hoping to avoid! No way, was his son going to be shuttled to some damn reception center like a common criminal! “What do you MEAN the Sheriff’s Dept. is picking him up?!” Massimo yelled. “I have it on good authority from my lawyer that Mr. Forrester was supposed to go straight from this precinct to appear before Judge Day at the Courthouse to have his bail set—tonight!”

“He was?” Sergeant Small asked with some surprise. “Well, this is news to us,” he commented.

“I cannot believe the incompetence of this department—of the civil servants of this city! I want this mix-up investigated! You should have received your instructions directly from the Courthouse.”

“Well, if you could hold on, Mr. Marone, we’ll contact the Courthouse and the Sheriff’s Department to find out what’s going on. But, in all honesty, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Mr. Forrester hasn’t even been scheduled for an arraignment yet. If anything, that’s the proceeding that Judge Day would be presiding over. Maybe you got your information mixed up.”

“My information is NOT mixed up!” Massimo roared. “This is just unbelievable. I honestly don’t understand what all the fuss is about anyway. All Mr. Forrester was simply doing was trying to get some bimbo to change her mind about marrying him, and you all act as if he robbed a bank or killed somebody!”

“How typical,” Officer Powell dryly observed. “You might want to tell that expensive lawyer you hired that Mr. Forrester is facing a myriad of charges, ranging from reckless driving, and reckless endangerment to stalking. You know, I even gave his simple ass a chance to go home, but he arrogantly chose to do what the hell he wanted! ” Officer Powell hotly responded to Massimo’s attempt to minimize Ridge’s actions.

“Cool it, Powell,” Sergeant Small quietly warned the officer. He figured that Massimo was just itching to sue the city over some perceived wrong and the last thing he wanted was to give him the ammunition. He then turned his attention to Massimo. “Sir, I don’t know what information you were given or by whom. But, if you would bear with us, I’ll see if I can get to the bottom of the mix-up. Meanwhile, you might want to settle in because it’s going to take a while. You should also contact your lawyer especially if he’s at the Courthouse waiting for Mr. Forrester to arrive.”

“And, while you’re at it, contact your bail bondsman. The IRC does accept bail payments 24 hours a day. Just make your cashier’s check payable to the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department.” Officer Powell instructed with a smile.

_______________

Judge Cecily Gannon was in the process of giving her law clerk instructions for the next day’s proceedings. During her most recent rotation, she was assigned to the family docket. As a result, her desk was piled high with files which documented every kind of human misery imaginable. She had several emergency motions scheduled tomorrow morning and would begin the docket call promptly at 9:00 a.m. This would allow her to schedule the motions in order of priority. As for the non-emergency motions, she had no idea how or whether she would even get to hear them all tomorrow.

The Guyana-born jurist was strikingly attractive with warm brown skin and a natural, no-fuss hairstyle. Prior to ascending to the bench, Judge Gannon was a trial lawyer for 15 years, representing individuals and businesses in civil and criminal cases in California’s state and federal courts. A partner in her previous law firm, Boucher & Reese, she was also involved in several notable cases, including a murder case where she employed the “battered woman’s syndrome” defense in which her client was acquitted. As a lawyer, she was an active member of the California State Bar, the California Association of Criminal Defense Attorneys, the American Bar Association, and the California Association of Black Lawyers. She was also actively involved with women’s issues.

As a judge with California’s busiest court system, she presided over jury and non-jury trials. Her trial docket typically included commercial law, products liability cases, criminal cases, domestic relations cases and medical malpractice. She also worked tirelessly to improve the court’s use of technology.

Judge Gannon had always been a lightening rod, and she never shied away from controversy. In some quarters, she was denounced as being too liberal and too much of an activist judge. In other quarters, she was accused of being elitist and “out of touch with the community.” As long as she could remember, she was told that she was too smart for her own good. Others claimed she had “an attitude” and a chip on her shoulder. She embraced the slurs and criticisms and refused to bend over backwards to conform her rulings to any one group. One of her favorite sayings was, “If people have a problem with my rulings, they can take it up with the court of appeals.”

When the phone in Judge Gannon’s chambers rang, she smiled ruefully. She figured it was her husband, Melvin. Judge Gannon picked up her phone, wondering what kind of gourmet meal Melvin had waiting for her. Lord, could that man burn! She thought with a smile.

“Hello, honey,” Judge Gannon cheerfully answered. However, instead of Melvin’s deep, melodious voice, she was on the phone with the court’s assignment clerk. “I don’t understand …” she said. “Since when does Judge Day schedule emergency bond hearings in the evenings?” she asked.

After listening for a few more minutes, Judge Gannon exploded. “Absolutely not! I’m on my way home and I have to get ready to hear motions tomorrow morning.” After that, Judge Gannon slammed the receiver down.

“What happened?” her law clerk, Skye, asked.

“You know, every time I don’t think Richard Day can surprise me anymore, he always manages to do so. Evidently, some lawyer—a Mr. O’Brien—is in the judge’s lounge looking for Richard. He claims that he and his client were supposed to be appearing before him this evening so that bail could be set. Meanwhile, Richard is nowhere to be found so guess who’s being asked to handle it.”

“Well, I hate to speak out of turn,” Skye began, “but Judge Day has been known to schedule things without anyone knowing about it.”

“Yeah, well you know what this is—another Richard ‘special’ and I want no part of it. And, how much do you want to bet this lawyer didn’t even bother to file a motion asking to get on the docket?” Judge Gannon asked in disgust. “Of course, he didn’t file one because he knew he didn’t have to. Yet, I’m supposed to just drop everything and try to fix another one of Richard’s messes.”

“That sounds about right,” Skye agreed.

“Skye, could you do me a favor and see if you can try to locate Judge Day?”

“Sure thing,” Skye replied.

However, as she lifted the receiver, one of the other courtroom clerks who remained behind, unceremoniously burst into Judge Gannon’s chambers. The clerk was completely out of breath and on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry, Judge—Skye!” the clerk cried. “Did you all hear what happened?”

“What happened?” A confused Skye asked.

“It’s Judge Day! He’s—he’s dead!” the clerk sobbed.

…

At that very moment, Massimo’s hired gun, attorney Mark O’Brien, opened the door and walked into Judge Gannon’s chambers. Barely having a moment to digest the news of Judge Day’s sudden passing, Judge Gannon was startled by this intrusion by a lawyer.

“Excuse me—who are you and why and you in my chambers?” an obviously shaken Judge Gannon demanded.

“I’m sorry, Judge,” the lawyer said, heedless of how inappropriate his actions were. “But …”

“But, what?” Judge Gannon asked.

“Well, ma’am, I was supposed to appear before Judge Day for an emergency bond hearing this evening, and I thought maybe he was in here.”

“First of all, you have no business in here,” Judge Gannon sternly began. “Second, Judge Day is dead.”

“Dead?!” a shocked Mark O’Brien exclaimed. He nearly passed out from the shock of the news. How in the hell was he going to explain this to Mr. Marone?

“Yes—dead. Obviously, whatever business you had with Judge Day will have to be put off until your case can be reassigned to someone else.”

“Look, Judge, why can’t you hear my motion?” The lawyer cheekily asked.

“You may think you’re dealing with Judge Day—may he rest in peace wherever he is—but let’s get something straight, Mr. …”

“O’Brien; it’s O’Brien,” the lawyer gulped.

“I don’t play those games. Now I don’t know what kind of arrangements you may have made with Judge Day to hear your so-called emergency motion, but it will have to wait until the morning.”

“I’m sorry, your Honor, but it can’t wait,” the lawyer insisted. “I have a very wealthy client—Ridge Forrester—who was slated to be released this evening.”

“Well, you know, Mr. O’Brien, if I had hemorrhoids, my piles would be bleeding for Mr. Forrester; they really would. That’s what the magistrates are for. Now, what’s wrong with Mr. Forrester that he can’t wait a day? I mean, is he terminally ill?”

“Well—um, no.”

“I’m only asking, Mr. O’Brien, because I’m going to put you on notice right now. If this is one of those cases where Judge Day was supposed to pull some strings to give some entitled person preferential treatment, then here’s the deal. Judge Gannon don’t play that. I don’t care how ‘special’ your client is—or how special he thinks he is—but having him not spend the night in jail isn’t a real emergency as far as I’m concerned.”

“But, Judge, you don’t understand,” the lawyer said, in an attempt to change Judge Gannon’s mind.

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” she snapped. “You know, you have some nerve barging in here with this nonsense claiming it’s an emergency. Well, let me tell you what my emergencies are! I have a woman’s whose house is about to go into default because her estranged husband has vindictively refused to pay the mortgage. I have women who can’t afford to buy juice and milk for their kids and who desperately need child support from men who won’t pay. And I’ve got parents who have no way of knowing if their kids are even going home with them tomorrow or if their kids will be placed in foster care. You see, Mr. O’Brien, I have real emergencies that I have to address and guess what? I won’t get to those cases until tomorrow morning. Now, if your client has to cool his heels in jail overnight, then that’s tough.”

Give him hell, Judge! Skye and the other clerk thought.

A red-faced Mark O’Brien took a deep breath after his dressing down by Judge Gannon. “Your Honor—”

“Mr. O’Brien, I’ve made myself clear on this matter. Save your breath because I’m not changing my mind. I don’t know how much money your client contributed to the late Judge Day, but you can tell him for me that his money is no longer any good here,” Judge Gannon pointedly said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” the lawyer protested.

“I just bet you don’t,” the judge sneered. “Oh, and since you all were trying to be so smart and buy your judge upfront, guess what I’m going to do? Even though I’m currently on the family docket, I’ll be filing an application requesting that your clients’ case be assigned to me. You know what that means, don’t you?” Judge Gannon smiled sweetly. “I’ll be handling the arraignment and all other proceedings thereafter.”

“And, what if I object,” an emboldened Mark O’Brien asked. What a bitch!

“You’re within your rights to object. You can file a writ of mandamus and try to have me removed from the case. But, my ruling—such as it is—stands. Mr. Forrester’s case will be mine. Now, GET OUT!”

_______________

[jrtllf01]

Stephanie peeked at her watch and found herself becoming increasingly nervous. Something was wrong; she could feel it. Why hadn’t she heard from Massimo yet? She wondered. Although Stephanie intellectually knew that Ridge’s release would take some time, she was accustomed to things moving much quicker for people like them. Just so long as he comes home tonight, that’s all that matters, she told herself. However, the waiting was just killing her.

While Catherine was upstairs with the children, Stephanie and Bridget had kept a vigil in the family room waiting for news—any kind of news. They did everything they could to remain optimistic but now they were both worried. Every time the phone rang, they both jumped, only to be disappointed when it was a member of the media or someone else. Each of them kept an ear attuned to the front door, listening for the sound of Ridge’s key turning in the lock. If only he would walk through that door!

Unable to sit still, Bridget rose and began to pace and to pick at the cuticles of her hands. Stephanie frowned. Ever since Ridge favored her little ass, the girl had become quite impossible, Stephanie thought. For the thousandth time that day, Stephanie tried to understand what kind of madness would possess Bridget to believe that she could swoop into her son’s home and take Taylor’s place. Stephanie now openly glowered at Bridget, as her pacing and fidgeting were positively getting on her nerves.

Deep in thought, Bridget had no way of knowing that she was being such a nuisance. Had she known, she would have cared less as her mind was fixed on one thing only. Why was Ridge in jail? And what exactly did her mother want from him? She repeatedly asked herself. Bridget replayed the previous day’s events in her mind to the moment when Ridge recited his vows to Brooke. This man loved her mother so much, and look at how she was treating him now! Now she had a good man like Captain Payne hanging all over her, Bridget fumed. As far as she was concerned, her mother was not good enough for either man. Bridget continued to pace, her mind racing to the moment when Ridge finally came home. Would he be happy to see her? Will he want her to stay—to help with the children? Maybe she should have brought an overnight bag, she thought.

“Will you please go somewhere and sit DOWN?!” a fed-up Stephanie screamed, interrupting Bridget’s thoughts.

Nearly jumping out of her skin, an open-mouthed Bridget stared at Stephanie and wondered what was wrong now. “What?” she dumbly asked.

“HOME!” Stephanie yelled as she stood and pointed her finger in the direction of the foyer. “Go home, Bridget! Just GO HOME!”

Rolling her eyes, Bridget wondered yet again if Stephanie was hard of hearing. “I told you earlier, I’m not leaving,” she resolutely said.

“Oh, so you’re staying, huh, Miss Jennifer Holliday?” Stephanie sarcastically asked.

“Yes, Stephanie,” Bridget said. “I’m staying. Ridge needs both of us right now.”

“What?!” Stephanie asked in surprise.

“Stephanie, everybody has turned against him. My mother, my father—all those terrible people on TV. But, he has us, the children, Massimo and even Catherine. We’re all he’s got right now.”

Stephanie regarded Bridget with some bemusement. On some level, the child is making sense, she thought. “Fine,” Stephanie snapped, no longer wishing to argue with Bridget. “Honey, I do need you to sit still and be quiet though. I’m going to call Massimo and see where things are right now.”

_______________

A pale and sweaty Mark O’Brien sat dejectedly in one of the chairs in the judge’s lounge trying to make sense of what just happened. How did something that was supposed to be so simple get so totally and spectacularly f*cked up? He repeatedly asked himself. He was to have shown up at the Courthouse as planned with two originals of a previously prepared order that only needed Judge Day’s signature. Judge Day would then contact the Beverly Hills precinct and fax his copy of the order to the appropriate person to get the process going. He, in turn, would race to the precinct with the other original as added insurance. From there, Ridge—flanked by his lawyer and Massimo—would march out of the police precinct into Massimo’s waiting car and be whisked to his home. End of story.

Although he was a skilled litigator who had prepared himself for every contingency, Mark had never seen anything like this. He did, in fact, show up, only to be told that Judge Day had not arrived yet. After waiting a suitable interval, he was buzzed into judge’s chambers just in case Judge Day was there instead. Then after more waiting, he barges into another judge’s chambers only to find out that the crooked jurist actually died. “He f*cking died!” Mark practically yelped with his head in his hands. And then if that was not bad enough, he managed to piss off this other judge—a woman with a history of activism on women’s issues—who not only denied his impromptu request but who humiliated him and all but ensured that she would be handling the case once his client was bonded out. True, she had invited him to file a writ of mandamus, but Mark already knew the likelihood of his success in having her removed from the case. Mark had no doubt that the other partners at the firm would howl in protest.

Now Mark had to figure out how he was going to break the news to Massimo. Although he was quite expert at managing a client’s expectations, he was in a no-win situation. He was supposedly the best that money could buy and look what happened, a morose Mark thought. “He paid the firm good money and doesn’t have sh*t to show for it!” Part of his job was to explain a bad outcome to a client and spin it in such a way where the client could see the silver lining. Mark knew there simply was no way to spin this particular screw-up. The only “silver lining” he could possibly see was that Ridge would, indeed, be going home; it just would not be that night.

Mark checked his cell phone and sighed deeply when he saw that Massimo had already called him twice. He knew he would have to return the call eventually; however, he would contact his firm’s managing and senior partners first to discuss exactly what happened, how they could fix it and how it could be explained to the client.

_______________

A subdued Ridge nervously watched the shadows increase in his cell as dusk was only beginning to set. All around him, he heard cell doors opening and closing as prisoners were either being dropped off, being released or being transferred to another facility. When would his turn come? He wondered.

He was still being taunted and it really pissed him off. Two prisoners, in the process of being released, could not resist adding to his misery.

One of them yelled, “Hey, Forrester! I hear you got your punk ass whupped by a woman!”

“Yeah, homes!” another man chimed in. “I feel sorry for his little sweet ass where he’s going,” he laughed, making kissing noises as he passed by.

Ridge tensed up until they were finally out of earshot. If he were out of here, he would have punched them both in the mouth! Ridge sighed deeply; he was by now physically and emotionally exhausted. Although he wanted to stay awake, he now lay on his bunk waiting for that magic moment when he would get the call that he had been released. However, as time elapsed, Ridge’s eyes began to grow heavy. He struggled to stay alert by keeping one eye open; however, it was difficult.

Ridge briefly nodded off and was awoken when his admirer repeatedly tried to get his attention.

“Oh, Mr. Forresterrrrrr!” the “she-male” called out. The admirer again declared him/herself in love and began to serenade Ridge in a beautiful tenor voice to prove it. When Ridge heard the strains of Unforgettable, he curled up into a fetal position and placed his hands over his ears. Why won’t this queen leave him the hell alone?

“I’ve got to get out of here!” Ridge practically sobbed to himself. Hearing Unforgettable only reminded him of Brooke. Realizing that their song was being “desecrated,” he could not help wonder what else of theirs had been defiled. He began to obsess again about Brooke and Nick and found himself getting worked up. As Ridge’s admirer continued to sing, Ridge imagined himself dancing with Brooke to their song. However, his mind’s eye showed their dance being interrupted by Nick tapping him on the shoulder and asking in his sardonic manner if he could cut in. Before Ridge could object, Brooke’s hand slipped out of his and she sidestepped him to get to Nick. Ridge closed his eyes tightly and placed his hands on both sides of his head as if he could blot out what came next. Unforgettable was no longer playing and had been replaced by another song—a tune that sounded original with a heavy saxophone background. Ridge did not recognize the artist at all, but it did not matter. He saw Brooke with her head on Nick’s shoulder as he held her close and the two of them slowly danced. Their bodies were perfectly in sync as if they were one. In the next frame of Ridge’s “film,” Brooke and Nick had, indeed, become one. Ridge shut his eyes tightly and groaned when he saw Brooke’s body writhing beneath Nick’s, pleasuring him while gaining pleasure herself. Ridge saw Nick’s smug smile. She’s mine! Nick had repeatedly taunted Ridge. Even worse, Brooke affirmed Nick’s declaration. I’m yours, Nick!

In a cold sweat, Ridge abruptly opened his eyes and sat up. He had to get out of here, he told himself again. “No way is Popeye getting his hands on my woman! No way in hell!”

_______________

Nick chuckled when Hope let out a big yawn before falling asleep in her bassinet. Brooke reached down and softly kissed Hope goodnight. Downstairs earlier, Hope had gotten quite comfortable while Nick was holding her and could barely keep her eyes open. He had accompanied Brooke upstairs to the nursery to lay Hope down. Nick could not help chuckling at Storm’s stern, “Keep your paws off my sister” look. With a nod of his head, Nick acknowledged Storm’s concerns and silently reassured him that his intentions were purely honorable.

“She’s absolutely gorgeous,” Nick said softly. “You and her father must be really proud,” he commented.

Brooke stiffened slightly and looked uncomfortable at the mention of Hope’s father. Although she attempted to hide it, Nick picked up on it immediately. He wondered if he had said something wrong.

“Brooke, is everything okay?” Nick asked.

Brooke took a deep breath before responding. “Yes, Nick; it is. It’s just that Hope’s father and I—well, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about when I had the chance, but with everything that’s happened today—”

“It’s okay,” Nick gently reassured Brooke. “You don’t have to talk about that now if you’re not ready to. There will be plenty of time for that; I promise,” Nick said.

“Nick, there’s so much I need to tell you about me,” Brooke said without some understatement. “I’m not sure if you’ll want to stick around especially after all this drama you witnessed today.”

“Do I look as if I’m fragile?” Nick asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“No, but—”

“Brooke, let me tell you a little something about myself. Saints, my sweet, have never held any particular charm for me,” Nick said. “I’ll take the so-called ‘bad girl’ with spirit, spunk and heart any day.”

“You say that now, Nick,” Brooke said, shaking her head. “But what happens when you find out the truth about me and Hope’s father?”

“Is he the reason you walked out of your wedding yesterday?” Nick abruptly asked.

Brooke gasped and looked at Nick in wide-eyed astonishment. “No!” she responded, being careful not to wake Hope.

“Then you must have found out the truth then?” Nick asked.

“The truth?” a confused Brooke asked.

“About Forrester and your daughter.”

Brooke took several deep breaths and almost wished the ground would open and swallow her up. Nick was a relative stranger; how could he have possibly known about that? “I need some air!” she quickly said. She turned to leave the nursery only to have Nick grab her hand to stop her.

“Is that what happened?” Nick asked.

“You are wrong!” Brooke angrily insisted.

“Am I?” Nick continued to probe.

“Nick, things are a lot more complicated than you realize.”

“Are they? How complicated is it to realize that you were about to make the biggest mistake of your life? Today more than proved that. ”

“Nick, you’re right. I did realize I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life; and it wasn’t that complicated. It was the best decision I ever made in my life,” Brooke replied angrily. “Now can we please drop it?”

“Of course, we can,” Nick said, “but maybe you could satisfy my curiosity about something else though.”

“What is it?” Brooke asked him with a squint.

“Those disgusting things Forrester said to you outside—calling you trash and dismissing you as a sex-starved tramp. Does he always behave like that when he’s angry with you or when he knows that you’re about to move on? And please don’t lie to me or try to minimize what happened.”

Brooke was floored by Nick’s perceptiveness. What could she possibly say? Nick had seen the truth for himself, she thought. Frankly she was embarrassed. What made her even more ashamed was that Ridge did not even attempt to hide his treatment of her—not from her family or Nick.

“Well?” Nick asked when no answer was immediately forthcoming.

“Yes, Nick,” Brooke quietly said with some shame. “Those things Ridge said to me—they’re just par for the course. He’s done and said things to me, Nick—things that no man should ever do or say to a woman—especially one he claims to love.” Brooke said in a tremulous voice.

“I’m so sorry,” Nick said. He wrapped his arms around Brooke to comfort her. “Those things he said were cruel, crude and difficult to hear. Judging by the way his mother treated you, it was obviously learned behavior.”

Nick closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of Brooke’s hair. He could have gone on holding her like this forever. Right now, he was angry, horrified and ashamed that a member of his own sex could treat a woman he said he loved worse than a dog in the street.

“I just wish you hadn’t seen all that,” Brooke said, looking deeply into Nick’s eyes.

“Brooke, you were made to be loved and cherished—not to be mistreated and disrespected. Ridge Forrester is a fool and I frankly don’t understand what you ever saw in him or why you felt compelled to marry him.”

“Nick, have you ever wanted something so badly that you could taste it? That’s what it was like for me and Ridge. It was a girlish dream that I’ve wanted for so long that I reached out and tried to grab it, hoping that this last time would be different.”

“Yeah, but little girls do have to grow up sometime and put away childish things, don’t they?” Nick playfully baited her.

“Indeed, they do!” Brooke said with a smile.

Nick was captivated by her smile and took a deep breath. “Brooke … I need … I want …”

“I know, Nick; me too,” Brooke quietly replied.

_______________

[jrtllf01]

Mark O’Brien grimaced as he was forced to answer some very tough questions from the two most powerful members of his firm.

“How could you have screwed this up, Mark? How?!” His firm’s senior partner screamed.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Mark futilely attempted to explained. “It was that damned judge!”

“Which judge?” his outraged managing partner demanded. “The ethically challenged one that your client attempted to influence or this other one that isn’t too happy with you or your client right now?”

Mark turned beet red at the description of the late Judge Day. He was well aware of Judge Day’s reputation, but he foolishly attempted to extricate himself from the judge’s taint to no avail.

“I have no knowledge of any influence peddling by Mr. Marone,” Mark claimed. “All I know is that Judge Day was to have been on standby to handle this matter as quietly and expeditiously as possible. How was I supposed to know he was going to die before he had a chance to do so?”

“Either you’re officially brain dead, too stupid to live or you’re being deliberately obtuse,” the managing partner coldly stated. “Everybody knows what Judge Day was about. Why else were you trying to get this thing pushed beneath the radar? And, just because no one could ever get Judge Day removed from the bench, doesn’t make the stench of this whole scheme any less strong. The fact that you allowed Mr. Marone to talk you into going along with it and placing this firm’s reputation in jeopardy is simply appalling.”

“I agree,” the senior partner said. “And who is this other judge anyway?”

“Some uppity, man-hating bitch with a chip on her shoulder!” Mark angrily ranted, still smarting from the verbal smackdown he received. “It’s Judge Cecily Gannon.”

Mark heard a long groan on the line and then silence. He began to perspire even more and wished he could just simply go home. After a few uncomfortable moments, his firm’s senior partner spoke.

“The name calling isn’t exactly very productive right now,” he angrily admonished Mark. “We’ve been following this mess with Ridge Forrester all afternoon and you couldn’t have chosen a worse judge to preside over this matter even if you picked her through central casting.”

“I didn’t choose her; she just happened to be there and I thought I would take a shot. I had no way of knowing she would ultimately want the case for herself,” Mark said.

“It doesn’t matter,” the managing partner angrily replied. “Brooke Logan may be considered a sex siren or whatever, but she’s also the poster girl for ‘battered women’s syndrome’ and now we’re stuck with a judge who is a women’s advocate!”

“And you’ve already managed to piss her off,” the senior partner reminded Mark. “But that’s a long-term problem that we have to address later. Right now, we have to explain to the client how this all happened especially if the goal was to simply make this matter go away.”

“I’m aware of that!” Mark blurted.

“Just tell the client the truth,” the managing partner advised. “Mr. Forrester will have to spend the night in jail; it’s as simple as that. The judge you were to appear before died unexpectedly, and we have another judge who wants the case assigned to her. Given what we know about Judge Gannon, your best bet is to meet with the prosecutor and get this thing pleaded out before it goes to trial.”

“What if I can show that she has a clear bias against men—especially wealthy ones?” Mark asked. “As far as I’m concerned, her behavior is illegal and unjust!”

“So you actually want this firm to throw its resources into having a well-respected judge forced into recusing herself?” The senior partner asked. “Say what you want about Judge Gannon. She’s tough, but she’s also fair and has always been a stickler for the law.”

“Trying to force her off the case may have serious implications for the other lawyers of this firm who may appear before Judge Gannon in the future,” the managing partner commented. “But, because she busted your balls a bit, you want us to risk pissing her and the other judges off.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that there is a real bias there; I saw it for myself,” Mark claimed. “She made some inappropriate comments about Mr. Forrester that were uncalled for. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t like Mr. Forrester or people like him. I’m very concerned that he will be singled out for criticism and that she will bend over backwards to accommodate the complainant. Whatever Mr. Forrester has done, he has a right to due process and to have his case heard by someone impartial.”

“You sound as if you really believe that,” the senior partner sarcastically said. “Too bad you didn’t put it into practice before you agreed to act as Mr. Marone’s henchman and buy an outcome for Mr. Forrester from a judge who couldn’t be impartial if his life depended on it.”

“But, we have to try,” Mark insisted, ignoring his senior partner’s barb.

“We’ll take it under advisement and discuss it at our next partner’s meeting,” the managing partner said. “You raised some valid points, but we need to discuss the pros and cons of proceeding with that course of action including the likelihood of success. There’s already been enough behind-the-scenes chicanery as it is and we can’t afford a malpractice lawsuit.”

“Nor can we afford to have Mr. Marone making a complaint to the bar,” the senior partner ominously stated.

“But, how could he?” Mark demanded. “I know I messed up, but Mr. Marone doesn’t exactly come to this matter with clean hands either.”

“You simply don’t get it, do you?” the managing partner impatiently asked. “It shouldn’t matter if the client’s hands aren’t clean. You knew better and the fact that you were willing to jeopardize your law license to please this man speaks volumes about your own integrity. The moment he made his proposal, you should have dropped him as a client immediately.”

“Exactly,” the senior partner agreed. “After we deal with how to manage this nightmare, we’ll be talking to you about other things—including your future with the firm.”

Mark closed his eyes and briefly wondered if his day could get any worse.

_______________

“Massimo,” Stephanie frantically began. “What’s the news? What’s going on? Where is Ridge?”

“Stephanie, calm down,” Massimo said in a soothing voice. “Ridge is still being held here at the jail, and I’m still waiting for the lawyer to get here. Apparently, they won’t release Ridge without some kind of documentation from the judge.”

“Oh, for the love of …” a frustrated Stephanie said. “Why can’t they just release him on his own personal recognizance?”

“Well, you know how these people are,” Massimo condescendingly said as he cut his eyes at the officers and clerical staff. “They have their little rules and their little procedures. What infuriates me is that I’ve been seen other people being released and yet they won’t let Ridge go! You should see some of these people—the dregs of society!”

“Scum,” Stephanie spat dispassionately. “This injustice is simply outrageous! It’s like Bizarro World or something! The scum of the earth get to go home while my son is being falsely imprisoned. What in the world are they charging him with anyway?”

“Some ridiculous trumped up charges—reckless endangerment, reckless driving and stalking.”

“They are lying! Ridge did none of those things!” Stephanie protested. “If anything, he was attacked! I know it; you know it and the American people know it! She’s not getting away with this! I swear when I get my hands on that—” Stephanie stopped abruptly, mindful that Bridget was within earshot.

“Don’t you worry about Brooke,” Massimo ominously stated. “I have my own way of dealing with her.”

“Like Paris?” Stephanie asked, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “You had your way of dealing with her then and she’s still causing trouble for my family!”

“Stephanie, you’re getting yourself worked up,” Massimo stated. “Right now, we need to get Ridge home.”

“Maybe I can put in a good word on Ridge’s behalf with the judge because right now things just aren’t moving quickly enough. Moss, is this lawyer you hired any good?” an increasingly skeptical Stephanie asked.

“He’s the best,” Massimo reassured Stephanie. “Oh, wait … he’s calling me now. Let me get this and I call you right back.”

…

Mark O’Brien nervously wiped his sweaty brow, hoping against hope that Massimo would not answer his phone. He closed his eyes and groaned inwardly however the moment he heard the other man’s deep booming voice.

“It’s about time you called!” Massimo shouted without preamble. “Where are you? Why aren’t you HERE?”

“Massimo—Mr. Marone, I don’t know any other way to tell you this, but—”

“But what?!” Massimo incredulously asked. He was now becoming so irate that the others in the station house were now listening. “Have you seen Judge Day?”

“He’s gone,” a miserable Mark stated.

“Gone? What do you mean he’s gone? Where is he now?” Massimo demanded.

“Massimo, I mean he’s gone—dead. He died before I even had a chance to see him about Mr. Forrester’s bail.”

Massimo could scarcely believe what he just heard. “WHAT?!” he roared. Suddenly mindful that others were listening, Massimo angrily walked toward the door so that he would not be overheard. “What do you mean the judge is dead?!”

“Massimo, I have no idea how it happened. He died before he even got to the courthouse and—”

Although Mark very patiently explained to Massimo what happened and the ramifications for Ridge, Massimo barely heard him. All he heard was a dull roar between his ears. Yet, Mark’s message managed to penetrate Massimo’s brain and the message was loud and clear. The judge died. There was another judge who dismissed his request out of hand. Ridge’s bond hearing will not take place until tomorrow morning. This final realization caused Massimo to let loose.

“You bloody IDIOT!” he screamed at the hapless lawyer. “You shyster! You sssss-snake! Of all the stupid, idiotic, incompetent—what in the HELL did I pay you for?! Just so that Ridge can STILL sit in jail!”

“Look, Massimo,” Mark began, “I really don’t appreciate your tone. Now, I really don’t know how this happened, but—”

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know how this happened? I’ll tell you how this happened. I hired an expensive lawyer to do something that a g*ddamed public defender could have done for nothing! Because at the end of the day, that’s exactly what I’ve got—NOTHING! And then to add insult to injury, you’re telling me that Ridge is STILL going to be prosecuted! You were supposed to get RID of this thing!” Massimo railed.

“And I told you that Judge Day died!” a fed-up Mark yelled.

In response, Massimo began to mumble unintelligibly and to curse in Italian. This was an absolute disaster! Massimo had never been afraid of anything before in his life—that is until tonight. Although he knew Ridge would be devastated that he was not going home tonight, Massimo had every confidence that his son was man enough to accept what happened and would handle himself like a man. After all, he was a Marone, Massimo arrogantly thought. However, breaking the news to Stephanie was another matter altogether.

“Massimo, I can understand that you’re upset, but we have remedies available to us,” Mark said, interrupting Massimo’s train of thought.

“I’m not interested in any remedies,” Massimo coldly replied.

“What if I can get rid of the judge?” the wily lawyer offered.

“How?”

“I’ve already discussed it with my partners, and we’re looking into it. We feel that what happened to Mr. Forrester was a miscarriage of justice.”

“Let me think about it,” Massimo said. “I’m not even sure I want to use your firm’s services especially after this travesty.”

Massimo then hung up on the lawyer and sighed deeply. First, he had to speak to these morons at the police station; then he would have to make the most difficult phone call he ever had to make in his life.

_______________

“You are so beautiful,” Nick whispered. His fingers traced the outline of Brooke’s lips. “You are beautiful, brave and strong. You’ve had to endure so much; it’s a wonder you haven’t gone crazy yet.”

Brooke took Nick’s hands into her own and caressed them. “Nick, I’m afraid you give me way too much credit. You’re right that I’ve had to endure a lot, but I haven’t always made the best choices when I found myself falling into that abyss. Sometimes my choices were disastrous and destructive. This is the first time that I feel I’ve been able to breathe. I’m just so glad you’re here; no matter what the fates have in store for us, I’m just glad you’re in my life. Nick …” Brooke said, in a voice that almost broke.

“What’s the matter?” Nick asked with concern.

“Nick, I know I have no right to ask or to expect it, but I need you so much!” Brooke confessed.

“Brooke, I’m not going anywhere. I will always be here for you,” Nick promised. He tenderly looked in Brooke’s eyes and lifted her face toward his. Nick bent down and gently brushed her mouth with his.

“Nick,” Brooke sighed in a voice palpable with longing. She could not believe she could desire someone like this so soon. What kind of woman am I? She briefly wondered. She was supposed to have married someone else yesterday. And yet, she still needed—wanted Nick.

Nick watched her closely and it became clear that Brooke was emotionally exhausted. Had it not been for the fact that they were in the baby’s nursery and Brooke had a room full of people downstairs, he was not sure if he would be able to hold himself in check. It would have been nothing for him to lift her up into his arms and carry her off to her own room. He would have made love to her, but after that, then what? The last thing Nick wanted was a woman who would be full of regrets and self-recriminations afterwards.

“Brooke, I think we should go downstairs before your brother sends a posse up here looking for us.” Nick suggested in a hoarse voice.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Brooke smiled ruefully.

“Where do we go from here?” A curious Nick asked.

“Wherever you want, captain,” Brooke playfully said with a salute. “Wherever you want.”