STEELE 'O MY HEART, PART XII: RASHOSTEELE, PART I

By: Susan Deborah Smith

E-mail:

First printed:

Summary: Remington's suspicions get the best of him when Roselli returns.

Disclaimer: This "Remington Steele" story is not-for-profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author and this site do not own the characters and are in no way affiliated with "Remington Steele," the actors, their agents, the producers, MTM Productions, the NBC Television Network or any station or network carrying the show in syndication, or anyone in the industry.

-----------------------------------------

There were days when the life of a private investigator was not particularly glamorous, and for Remington Steele there had been too many in a row. Finding people for reunions, some collection cases that Mildred resolved with ridiculous ease, paperwork and more paperwork was the sum of their diet, lately. It had been a long week, and it was only Tuesday.

"What do you say we take a few days off and spend them in Catalina?" he suggested to his wife.

Laura was gazing out the window.

He glanced at her, noticed her inattention. "Laura?"

She stirred herself. "What?"

"'Twenty six miles across the sea'," he sang, humming the rest until he got to the refrain: "'The island of romance'."

"We'll never get a reservation."

True, the hotel they liked best had just a few rooms that filled up quickly, even in the off-season. "Just a thought." There were other options, and he proposed one. "Santa Barbara?"

She didn't answer.

After a time, he hazarded, "Pregnant?"

That got her attention, and she gave a little gasping laugh. "No," she said. With a smile, she added, "At least, not that I've noticed."

"We'll have to keep trying, then, eh?"

She laid her hand on his thigh. "You know how I love to try, Mr. Steele."

Last night she'd run two red lights in her hurry to get home. "Indeed."

*****

Remington had an errand to run at lunch and thought, for a treat, he'd bring back a slice of chocolate cheesecake from Harry's Bar and American Grill.

As he went to the bar to place the order, he caught a glimpse of shining hair at a booth toward the back. He started in her direction, then came to a dead halt. Laura wasn't alone, nor was she lunching with Mildred, nor with a client, nor with a friend. She was sitting with a man who looked unpleasantly familiar.

Roselli! His heart turned over. Hadn't they seen the last of him? What the hell was he doing here? Here, in Los Angeles, with Laura? What was Laura doing, meeting him in a bar?

They were drinking. At least, there were two drinks on the table. Remington moved around to where he could see without being seen. While he was ducking out of sight, Laura got up and went out; Roselli leaned back and finished his drink.

The barman put a small styrofoam box on the counter. "That'll be five thirty five, Mr. Steele."

Distracted, Remington handed him a ten. "Thanks, mate," he said, without waiting for his change.

*****

Laura was bent over paperwork when he came in. "Good lunch?" he asked.

"Average," she replied. She might have been flushed, or it might have been the light. "I had to take care of something."

"Big sale at Bullock's," he suggested.

She smiled. "No. Just - business."

"Ah." He presented her with the cheesecake. "I thought we could share this."

At once, two forks appeared from a desk drawer. "I didn't get a chance to eat," she told him, digging in.

Remington took one bite. "Busy day, eh?"

*****

He waited through dinner for her to confide that Roselli was back to blackmail them. Or that Roselli was threatening her. Or that Roselli was destitute, and out of Christian charity she'd bought him a drink and given him a few dollars to get out of town on. Instead, Laura talked about the week's boring cases, and whether they should change from their current tax man, and had he given any more thought to what they were going to do about something he had totally forgotten about.

Dinner over, he put on a movie - "Brief Encounter" Ha! That should fetch her - while Laura sorted bills from junk mail.

"Hey, look," she said, holding up a postcard. "Rocky's on tour in Japan."

"That should set international relations back forty years," he observed glumly.

She brought him the postcard so he could read it. "I think I'm going to get ready for bed."

"All right, darling," he replied, laying the postcard aside, attention focused on the screen.

Her hand trailed along his shoulder. He took it and pressed it to his lips and let it go.

Some time later, the phone rang and he lunged for it. "Steele, here," he said.

After a brief silence, he heard the click of someone quietly hanging up.

Laura came out of the bathroom, rubbing her hair with a towel. "Was that the phone?"

He shook his head. "Wrong number."

*****

The phone rang again, the next night, while he was washing up. He told himself he wasn't worried. He told himself there was nothing to worry about. He told himself he was a cad and a heel for even entertaining the idea that there could be a reason to worry. He told himself to stay in the kitchen, and he ignored this good advice.

Laura was speaking in an urgent whisper to someone on the other end of the line. She turned, and saw him, and hung up.

"Wrong number," she said.

He looked at her, and she looked away. "Why do I find that somewhat hard to believe?" he asked.

"It was the wrong number, Remington."

"It was Roselli, wasn't it?"

"What?"

"Look me in the eye and tell me I'm wrong. That that wasn't Antony Roselli on the phone."

She wouldn't. She opened her mouth to speak and shut it again.

"What's he doing here?" he asked. "Here, in Los Angeles."

"He's not - " she began.

"I saw you, the pair of you!"

Her surprise seemed genuine. "When?"

"Yesterday. At Harry's."

"I didn't see you."

"You know, for a detective, you don't know much about sneaking around."

"Because I wasn't sneaking around! I was in a public place, where you, or Mildred, or anybody could walk in and see me. You did walk in!"

"And what did he have to say?"

Folding her arms on her chest, she said, "The usual."

"The usual. Which is some variation of 'come away with me.'"

"Of course."

"To which you replied - "

At first she didn't answer. It was possible that she couldn't remember, or that she didn't want to say.

"If you don't know," she told him flatly, "I don't know you."

"How did he get our home number, eh?"

Laura stared at him. "A few years ago, you asked me to teach you how to be a detective. This is the result of all my hard work? You can't figure out how somebody gets access to an unlisted number?"

"Why would he try to call, if - "

"Why did he keep coming at me, even when he knew we were married?"

"We weren't really married," he reminded her.

"We were married enough."

It was always satisfying to Remington Steele to hear his wife refer to those uncertain days with this kind of certainty, and he found his righteous indignation somewhat thrown off by her reply. He stepped back to try to get his equilibrium and failed; anger came flooding back.

"After all these months, all this time, he's still after you."

Her head came up, challenging. "What's surprising about that?"

"Fine, yes, you're a lovely, desirable woman, Laura. Any man who doesn't look at you twice must be blind. Okay? But this man. This bugger! You told me you got rid of him!"

"I thought I had! Do you think I wanted to see him?"

"Why did you?"

"To tell him to go away and leave us alone."

"There's the phone!" he shouted. "You could have saved him the cost of a drink."

"Don't you think I tried?"

"You didn't have to meet him. You could have told me. I could have gone down there and told him what's what. But no. You go. You go and have a drink with a man who wants - "

"Shut up!" she screamed.

Surprised, he looked at her. "Eh?"

"Just shut up. Just don't say any more."

"Oh. So we just forget about it? Pretend it never happened? Not bloody likely, Laura."

"It's not enough for me to love you with all my heart?" she demanded. "You're still suspicious?"

"He's turned your head before."

"He did not!"

"No? Oh, of course. It was all a ploy, to make me jealous, to make me pay for your inconvenience, to test whether I really - "

"I was angry, then. And anyway, I never would have - "

"And the next time you're angry?" he interrupted. "Eh?"

"That's different. I know where I stand, now!"

"And before, you didn't?"

"No. I've never known. Not until a very short time ago."

"Longer than that," he countered.

"If I thought I had to test you, it was because you wouldn't tell me anything! I had to work it all out for myself, with no help from - "

This was old news, and Remington was focused on the more recent. "Why didn't you just tell me you were meeting him?"

"It wasn't important."

"The bugger's trying to break up our marriage, and you don't think it's important?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Laura snatched up her bag.

"Laura!"

"Just forget it!" The door slammed shut behind her.

Remington expected her to get some air, perhaps walk around the block, cool off and come back for suitable apologies and tender making up. Passion would follow, and he made the appropriate preparations.

After an hour, thinking about muggers, purse snatchers and worse, he went outside, and then down to the garage. The Rabbit was missing: good, she wasn't wandering the streets alone after dark; bad, she could have gone anywhere on a full tank of gas.

At midnight, he drove to the office. He didn't need to see her car at the curb or her name on the guard's sign-in sheet to know she was up there. It had only been a fantastic shiver of dread that inclined him to imagine she'd gone to Roselli.

He let himself in and looked around. "Laura?" he called softly.

In his office, he could just make out the sleeping form of his wife tucked in on the couch. Her dress and stockings were draped over his chair, shoes left carelessly in the middle of the floor.

Sitting down on the coffee table, he watched her for a long time.

"Laura," he said finally. Touching her shoulder, he said again, "Laura?"

She awoke with a start. Blinking at him in the moonlight, she fumbled for the lamp.

"Oh," she said, with what looked like relief. "It's you. What time is it?"

"Half past twelve." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Come home with me, darling."

Recalling the quarrel, she pulled her hand away. "Why should I?"

"Why?" he repeated. "Because you can't spend the night in the office."

"I don't like being mistrusted," she told him.

He sat back, hands on his knees. "Ah. I see. Distrusting, but not mistrusted." He stood up, shaking his head. "All these years, I've been trying to earn your trust. Trying, really trying, and you sail through your life on the assumption that of course I'm going to trust you."

Laura jumped to her feet. "Why you - " she began, livid. "I have never - Not once - "

He caught her hand before it made contact.

"Of course I trust you," he said. "It's him I'd like to take a ten foot pole to."

"I wouldn't have married you," Laura promised, "if I didn't plan to see it through. Or haven't I made that clear?" She wrenched her hand free.

"Pretty clear," he admitted. "Which is why I don't understand why you didn't tell me."

"I wanted to handle it myself. I didn't want you getting upset over nothing. I didn't want that Irish temper - "

"Nothing?" he exclaimed. "After everything he put us through? Chasing us from Mexico, to London, to Ireland? You call that nothing?"

"Yes! Nothing! You think I can't handle myself, can't handle him - "

"Laura, I appreciate that you're a modern woman, but there are a few things a man likes to do for himself, and one of them is to take a crack at - "

"I don't want you to!"

"Why?" he asked. "Why, eh? Because you think he'll get hurt?"

Laura looked at him. "Someone might," she muttered.

He realized then that she was thinking of Mexico, of a man belted off a balcony and turning up mostly dead and what might have been a wedding night was spent by one of them in jail.

"There are other ways of dealing with scum like him," he told her.

"I can get rid of him," she promised.

"You shouldn't have to! That's my job; now let me do it!"

"Wait a minute. Let's think about this."

"Think? You're asking me to think?"

There was plenty to yell about; neither had a low-key tempermant, and neither shrank from a fight.

"Hey," someone said. "I thought I heard voices."

On the surface, it looked pretty bad: Laura, alone in the office late at night, Roselli turning up like he was expected.

Remington tried to keep in mind salient details, such as Laura sound asleep and not trying to look the least bit seductive, and Roselli, always a low down liar who could turn ambiguity to his advantage, not to mention the fact that no matter how bad it looked, he couldn't believe it.

"Oh, fine, that's just what I need," said Laura, slamming the door in Roselli's face.

She snatched up her stockings and sat down to put them on.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed," she replied, gesturing toward the door. "I thought you might appreciate it."

She was right. He'd observed that Roselli had enjoyed a long look at Laura in her lingerie. As he watched her, his mind idly processed the thought that the finished effect of the sheer pantyhose was considerably more appealing than the process of either taking off or putting on, although . . .

Jamming her foot into the other side, she smoothed them up her legs, shimmied her hips into the panty part, and snapped the elastic around her waist. She looked up and saw him looking and looked away.

As she straightened the hem of her slip, Remington handed her her dress.

"Laura - "

She struggled into it. "I suppose you think we planned this."

He shook his head. "No. I was worried that you might - "

"What?"

"Not that."

"Then what?"

How to describe the thousand things that had occurred to him - the real things that might have happened to her when she was angry and careless? "I know you didn't come here to meet him, Laura. I know it was never that."

"If you want to go home and fight," she suggested, apparently only slightly mollified, "fine. If you want to stay here and fight, it's okay with me. You choose, Mr. Steele."

He jerked his thumb at the door. "What about him?"

"What about him?" She reached back to zip up the dress. "Get rid of him. That's your job, isn't it?"

Remington unjammed the zipper for her, hooked the hook at the top, and arranged her hair down her back. "Right."

Relieved that now they could agree on something, he went out. He found that their nemesis had made himself at home in the outer office.

"It's after hours," Remington told him.

"Okay." Roselli turned a page in a magazine. "See ya."

"Perhaps you didn't catch my drift, Antony. We'd like you to leave."

"You mean you'd like me to leave."

The subtlety wasn't lost on Remington, but he was unable to formulate a better reply than "Get out!"

"I'm here to see Laura."

"Laura doesn't want to be seen."

"Not the impression I got," Roselli answered. "You know, I didn't think it was possible, but she looks even more beautiful in lace."

"What's with you, mate?" Remington demanded. "Can't take no for an answer?"

Roselli smiled blissfully. "Maybe I got a different answer."

Deep in his heart, Remington knew she'd given this jerk the brush-off. Deep in his heart, he knew Roselli was a player who just wasn't inclined to give up. Deep in his heart, he knew his wife was honest, loyal and true. But deeper, even than that, was an instinct that suggested that it didn't matter what Laura's intentions were; instinct said the man sitting before him, calmly reading a magazine, was a danger to hearth and home.

Remington grabbed his rival by the collar, jerked him off the sofa and flung him up against the wall.

"I haven't got much patience with boors who chase married women."

"She deserves better than you, pal."

"Maybe she does. In fact, I know she does. But you're not it."

"Let's let her decide," Roselli suggested. "I dare ya."

"I'll take that dare - " Remington began.

"Hey!" Laura shouted.

Her husband glanced over his shoulder. After a moment, he slowly released Roselli.

She went to the door. "I'm leaving," she announced. "You," she added, pointing at Remington, "I expect to see at home shortly. And you - " She fixed her eyes on Roselli. " - I told you once before I never want to see or hear from you ever again. I meant it then. I mean it now. Don't make me take drastic action." Then she went out.

Remington remembered her telling him she'd threatened Roselli with drastic action - and the exact form of such action - if he didn't leave her alone; he wondered if Roselli remembered. A glance at Roselli's face suggested he did.

Dusting off his hands, Remington stepped back. "In case you have any doubts," he said, "she's a woman of her word, that Mrs. Steele. Does what she says. 'Forsaking all others' - that sort of thing actually means something to her. And threats - She doesn't make idle ones." He slapped Roselli on the shoulder in a too-hearty, comradely way. "I'd try to restrain her, mate. My duty, really. There are laws against that kind of mayhem in this country, although I'm not sure a jury would convict her. Lovely, respectable young married woman, stalked and harassed by - "

"Thanks. I'm getting the picture."

"Excellent." Remington turned away, then turned back again and took hold of Roselli. "Now get out," he demanded, his expression twisted. "Before I put you out through that glass, there."

Shaking himself free, Roselli straightened his jacket. "See you around, Steele," he smirked, and headed for the door.

Remington, panting with either exertion or emotion, he couldn't tell which, watched after him.

*****

When he got home, the flat was dark. Laura was sound asleep. In the bathroom, he found a note taped to the mirror on the agency's message paper.

"I'm sorry," it said. "I'll let you deal with him next time."

He crumpled the note and crammed it in his pocket.

When he got into bed, she turned over and asked, "Is he gone?"

"Yes."

"For good?"

"That I can't say. You're probably aware that he's very persistent."

They lay, side by side, in silence. Then Laura said, "Did you want to fight some more?"

"No." He folded his hands on his chest and gazed at the ceiling. "Unless you want to berate me for doubting you."

Laura reached over and smoothed the hair back from his forehead. "I don't think you were doubting me, exactly," she admitted. "It just sounded like it."

"Why in God's name didn't you tell me you were in trouble?"

"I didn't think I was. I thought I could handle it. Handle him."

"Didn't want to let me try?"

"Not that. Exactly."

He smiled in the darkness. "Saving me from myself, Mrs. Steele?"

"Oh, my love," she sighed. "An old habit. Hard to break."

He reached across for her other hand, then turned suddenly and laid his head on her breast. "Indeed."

END