Play Date

2 Oops.

A/N: Somewhat NSFW. Enjoy.

Paige and Riley live in a pristine mid-century showpiece home high in the Hollywood Hills. They collect art and have impeccable taste in furnishings. There is nothing childproof in their home and the open staircase could prove fatal to a toddler. Then there's the south-facing wall of glass that provides, in relator terms, a commanding view of Los Angeles, now in full twinkle as far as the eye can see.

Outside, meticulously manicured landscape. In the back, a swimming pool shimmers in the starlight. Out front, his and hers Maseratis nap in the driveway. On the street, Jerry and Laura's driver surfs the web on his phone, killing time until he chauffeurs them home.

Inside, the Emmy broadcast replays on a sixty-nine-inch flat screen, providing most of the light in the living space.

Laura can't catch her breath. She arches back in an armchair facing the television, her nails digging into the chair's sides. She tries to speak but barely gets out the occasional syllable.

Across the room, looking out from the kitchen, Paige stands behind the island, leaning on her forearms. Jerry stands behind her, sipping another single malt. He may have had too much to drink, judging by the way he weaves back and forth. But, if you had x-ray vision and could see through the island, you would see a pair of tuxedo slacks clumped on the floor near high heels. You'd also see a designer gown hiked over thirty-four-inch hips. Most telling, you'd see that Jerry's movements are not the random wobbling of a balance-challenged drunk. He moves with purpose, his front-most part making repeated southern border crossings between Inner and Outer Paige.

But where is Riley?

"Farewell, Casey Fields," Jerry says. "Here's to going out on top."

"Thanks for the heads up," Paige says. She's disappointed her joke is lost on the others. It can be lonely holding the quickest wit in the room. But she raises a glass to Jerry.

Laura waves an empty hand without opening her eyes. And then, voila! Riley's arm pops into view from under Laura's gown, waving to acknowledge Jerry's cheers.

The broadcast replay reaches the segment where they won the award. "The Emmy goes to," Neil Patrick Harris says before opening the envelope. He gasps when he reads the card inside and the sound from the television goes, BLEEEP "The Casey Fields Mysteries!"

The events play out in real time, with Paige, Riley, Jerry, and Laura exchanging hugs. In the Welphelt's living room, Laura peers at the television and jumps to her feet, twisting Riley's neck.

"Ow!" Riley complains, still under Laura's gown. Laura yells at her husband.

"Jerry!" Jerry responds without breaking a hump.

"Yes, my love?" Laura locates the remote, hits pause, and drops it on a couch.

"You son of a bitch!"

"What did I do?" Jerry really doesn't know. Laura turns her anger on Paige.

"And you..." She aims at Paige.

"What did I do?" Paige, too, has no idea what Laura is griping about.

"Clearly," Laura says, "He's squeezing your ass." Jerry holds up both his hands, neither of which touches Paige's ass or any other part of her. Laura points to the television, where the image pauses on Jerry and Paige hugging. Sure enough, Jerry is fondling Paige's rear end.

"I thought you were my friend," Laura says.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Laura," Paige responds, "But was my husband's face not just planted in your bush?" Riley digs his way out from Laura's dress and chimes in.