Office Gossip 
by Rrain Prior 
 
 
"Where's Bayliss?" 
 
"Day off," said Frank, stirring his coffee idly.  "Visiting his 
doctor." 
 
"Oh, hey, he's doing all right, isn't he?"  Lewis pushed the papers 
in front of his out of the way and gave Frank his full attention. 
 
"Yeah, yeah," he said impatiently.  "He's as all right as he ever is.  
He just has to, you know..."  He waved his hand in a circular motion 
as though that would articulate the rest of his question.  "Get 
checked out from time to time." 
 
Ballard groaned from her seat and nodded in sympathy.  "*Tell* me 
about it.  I thought when I lost the cane that was that, but..."  She 
shook her head in amused frustration. 
 
"You sure he's, uh, really at the doctor?" 
 
"What's that, Gharty?" he asked, a dangerous smile on his face as he 
talked to the other detective across the room.  "What's that supposed 
to mean?" 
 
"Nothin'" 
 
"No, really, I want to know." 
 
"I believe," said Munch, looking up from his newspaper, "that it was 
a dig at your partner's integrity.  Do we really need to go down that 
road right now?" 
 
"Oh, I think we do," said Frank. 
 
"Well, where *else* is he gonna be?" asked Stivers. 
 
"Come on, Frank," said Gharty, leaning forward as though to speak to 
him in private, but still having to raise his voice to be heard 
clearly.  "We've all heard the rumors about your partner." 
 
"Yeah, sure, there's rumors.  There's *always* rumors floating around 
this place.  And as far as *I* know, they have *nothing* to do with 
Bayliss going to see any damn doctor!" 
 
"But what I'm *saying* is, maybe Bayliss is off, you know, meeting 
with somebody. Somebody he don't want us to know about." 
 
"If Bayliss wanted to see somebody without us knowing," offered 
Munch, "he sure as hell wouldn't do it during working hours." 
 
"Is anybody planning on getting any actual *work* done today?" 
 
"Yeah, Gee." 
 
"Sorry, Gee." 
 
"He's right, though," said Lewis, watching the door of Gee's office 
close again.  "The guy ain't stupid.  If he wants to sneak off to 
meet with some chick, it ain't gonna be when we're around to miss 
him." 
 
"Some *chick*?" chucked Gharty.  "For a detective, Lewis, you don't 
listen to whispers so well." 
 
"No, no, man, I *know* what y'all are talking about.  And I tell ya, 
*Bayliss ain't stupid*." 
 
"Does it *matter*?" asked Ballard.  "I mean, does it really *matter* 
anyway?" 
 
The phone interrupted.  "Homicide.  Munch." 
 
"You mean to tell me," Gharty addressed his partner, "you don't care 
that this guy is, you know..."  He dropped his voice down to a stage 
whisper.  "Playing for both teams?" 
 
"Oh *get* over it," she shot back, rolling her eyes. 
 
"I've got a lead to follow up on, folks," said Munch, throwing on his 
jacket.  "You'll have to enjoy this stimulating conversation without 
me." 
 
Gharty held his hands up in surrender.  "I'm just saying--" 
 
"You are *not* just sayin'," interrupted Stivers.  "You're suggesting 
something that just ain't there."   
 
"Bayliss is just, you know, confused," said Frank calmly. 
 
"You know, I really don't think he's confused, Frank," said Laura. 
 
"Wwll what *else* could it be?" he chuckled. 
 
"I don't think this is worth talking about," said Meldrick 
dismissively, turning back to his desk.  His body still tilted a 
little as he kept one ear on the conversation. 
 
"What else could it be?" repeated Ballard.  "He knows what he wants, 
Frank.  He knows what he's doing." 
 
"He knows what he's doing?  What do you mean he knows what he's 
doing?  What's he doing?" 
 
The phone rang again.  "Homicide.  Ballard." 
 
"Frank, do you tell Tim about *everything* that you do?" asked Lewis, 
unable to extract himself completely. 
 
"Of course not." 
 
"Well, there you go, then." 
 
Laura stood up.  "Come on, Stu.  We're up.  Sounds like a robbery, 
gone awry." 
 
He grabbed his things.  "I just don't know about all this," he 
muttered. 
 
"You don't *need* to know about all this," she said as they made 
their way out the door.  "It's Tim's business, Stu." 
 
"Bayliss is confused.  He doesn't know what he wants right now.  
That's all it is."  Frank shook his head and pretended to turn back 
to his work, but he didn't really look at any of it. 
 
"This has got to be one of the *stupider* conversations we've ever 
had here," muttered Lewis. 
 
"Oh yeah?"  said Frank.  "Then why are you still talking?" 
 
"I don' know.  I don't know why I bother sometimes." 
 
"You have got the *wrong* attitude about this, Frank," said Stivers.  
"You keep thinking that way and you're never gonna understand him." 
 
"I don't know that I *want* to understand," he said, shaking his 
head. 
 
"Yeah," she pushed.  "Yeah, you do.  But you're sitting there 
thinking that Tim doesn't know what he wants.  Does he want men?  
Does he want women?  And you can't see the forest for the trees." 
 
"You lost me there." 
 
"You keep thinkin' like it has to be one or the other," she said.  
"And you can't see that maybe it doesn't matter to him.  Maybe he 
just wants *people*." 
 
They both turned towards the ringing phone, but neither answered.  
"Homicide.  Lewis." 
 
"I've been partners with Tim for six years.  *Six years*.  Don't you 
tell me you think you know him better than *me*." 
 
"I'm not *sayin'* that, but--" 
 
"Lucky me, I get to visit our beloved M.E.," said Lewis, hanging up 
the phone.  "But let me just get my two cents worth in here before I 
skee-daddle.  I don't care whether Bayliss fucks this person, or 
fucks that person.  He's my friend, and he's a damn good detective, 
and that, as they say it, is that.  Frank, I'd suggest you do the 
same." 
 
Perching his hat on his head, he left the squad room. 
 
"Just you and me, now, Frank." 
 
"Just you and me." 
 
"Have *you* ever, you know, wanted a man?" 
 
Pembleton laughed.  "Me?  Wanted a man?  No, of course not." 
 
"Then you're not *gonna* understand.  Just let it be.  Don't assume 
that the things *he* feels have gotta be the same as the things *you* 
feel." 
 
"I'm not assuming that." 
 
"Yes," she said, "you *are*." 
 
"Well, what about you?  How come you think you understand so well?  
You ever had feelings for, you know, a woman?"  He smiled, thinking 
he had finally scored a point. 
 
"Yeah," she said, leaning back in her chair.  "Yeah, I have.  That 
surprise you, Frank?" 
 
"I--" 
 
"You don't gotta answer that.  I know it does." 
 
The phone rang again.  And again.  "Homicide.  Stivers." 
 
Frank looked down at his desk and toyed with his pen, keeping one eye 
on Stivers; her attention was on the call and the call alone. 
 
"Looks like Narcotics needs a bit of old-timer advice," she said as 
she got off the phone.  "Take my advice, Frank.  Let Tim be Tim.  
It'll be a lot easier on you in the long run." 
 
He watched her go, then looked around the empty room. 
 
The phone rang. 
 
"Homicide. Pembleton." 
 
--End--