Shattered Dreams - A Bricky Tale

[MissJr]

PROLOGUE - THE MORNING AFTER

Stephanie's foot immediately stomped on the brake of her black Mercedes sedan, bringing it to an abrupt stop. "Oh my God! We've been robbed!" She gasped. She quickly shut off the engine and jumped out of the car. It was as if burglars had ransacked her house, as the front lawn was littered with debris and various items from her home. Her first concern was Eric. Did something happen to him? She wondered.

However, as Stephanie surveyed the wreckage amongst her perfectly trimmed hedges and topiary, reality slowly sank in. Upon closer inspection, Stephanie realized that all the items belonged to her. In fact, virtually everything she owned was out here. "What in the world ...?" She gasped as her eyes widened in stunned disbelief. Nearly every stitch of her clothing—including her underwear—was strewn all over the front lawn. Stephanie slowly took in the scene around her. Her personal effects, including jewelry, photographs, and other mementos, had also been hurled outside. Even her cosmetics, toiletries, electric curlers, and other beauty implements were on the front lawn. The mahogany chest containing the sterling silverware service for 12, which she inherited from her grandmother, had also found its way outside. Pieces of the valuable silverware were scattered everywhere.

Stephanie slowly walked up the circular driveway toward her palatial Beverly Hills mansion like an automaton. Shards of broken glass gleamed like small prisms all over the driveway. Her collection of Givenchy perfume bottles had been wantonly shattered. Stephanie could only stare at the broken jars of expensive lotions and creams, their contents spattered on the driveway in thick, gooey gobs.

As if her feet had a mind of their own, Stephanie slowly continued her trek toward the mansion. Each step she took made her wearier than the last. A lump formed in Stephanie's throat when she saw her $800.00 Pielle cognac leather travel bag sitting on the front step of the mansion. She did not have to look in the bag to know that it had already been packed for her.

"My God! He threw me out!" Stephanie cried. "Eric actually threw me out."

_______________

The normally beautiful bridal suite of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel had been made even more so in anticipation of the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Ridge Forrester the previous evening. A complimentary bottle of champagne still sat in a sterling silver ice bucket on the dining table, which had been elegantly set for two. In a thoughtful gesture, Rick and Amber had their wedding gift—a pair of crystal Mikasa champagne flutes—delivered to the suite early yesterday. A large beautifully wrapped basket of fruits, cheeses, crackers, and chocolates sat next to the silver ice bucket and champagne. Ridge had worked closely with the Beverly Wilshire's catering manager to select an evening meal comprised of Brooke's favorites. Had she even cared, Brooke would have been impressed by the specially engraved dinner menus perched on top of the hotel's signature bone china. Ridge had also arranged for a late checkout beforehand, as he wanted to enjoy a late morning brunch with his bride.

Had things gone according to plan, last night, Brooke would have donned the silk chiffon halter-style nightgown that Ridge had designed especially for their wedding night. In fact, Ridge had designed Brooke's entire trousseau, obsessively seeing to every detail, from the selection of the finest materials to ensuring that every single pearl on her silk chiffon nightgown was hand sewn by Forrester Creations' best seamstress.

Brooke sat up in the king-size bed where she was to spend her wedding night. She sighed ruefully. She could not help but remember how inviting the perfectly made bed had looked last night, with its white and silver jacquard bedclothes, along with a decadent Godiva chocolate placed on each pillow. She must have been out of her mind to come here, Brooke thought grimly. Katie and Storm both tried to dissuade her from spending the night here, of all places, but she stubbornly refused to listen. However, staying at her home last night was not an option. She did not want to see or speak to Ridge or Bridget.

Last night, she and Ridge were to consummate their marriage in this very bed. Their lovemaking was to represent the culmination in a long journey for both of them. Finally, she could enter into a union with the great love of her life free of all obstacles. For once, she did not need to worry that the fates that had so conspired against them before would snatch away the happiness that had always been within her grasp. At least that is the way it was supposed to have happened. However, the night of her engagement party was only the beginning of her nightmare. Brooke had become physically ill when she overheard the conversation between the two people, who mattered so much to her. The scales had finally come off her eyes, and what she saw left her revolted and sickened. Massimo's leering and smug face only magnified the horror of that night. Even when Brooke made her way home, she could not help but notice that her fiancé was more concerned with Bridget than he was with her.

Had things gone according to plan, that very afternoon, Ridge would have whisked his bride off to their honeymoon destination in Carmel, California in a plane that he had chartered just for the occasion. When Ridge informed Brooke of his plans, she had been so moved by his thoughtfulness and sensitivity. Mindful that his new wife would not want to be away from Hope for such a long time, Ridge made arrangements for them to stay at the Carmel Valley Ranch Resort. Among the other luxurious amenities, the resort offered baby-sitting and childcare services, as well as baby cribs.

Brooke's eyes darkened in fury and then her stomach recoiled in disgust. She could not help but recall another honeymoon she and Ridge shared a long time ago—one where their daughter not only accompanied them, but also slept in the same bed with them.

_______________

Ridge groaned miserably when he looked in the mirror. He had fully expected to wake up in the arms of the woman he loved that morning. And, why not? He reasoned. After all, he and Brooke finally reached the place to which they were always destined. He should have been spooning her soft body from behind, as she contently laid her head in the crook of his arm. Instead, he was standing here taking an Advil for a massive headache and various body aches. Instead of looking into those wondrous hazel eyes of hers, Ridge could only glare at his own face, which resembled that of a punch-drunk fighter's. His right eye, which had been blackened, was nearly swollen shut. All because of a g*ddamn misunderstanding.

"Damn it! Logan knows good and well that I love her!" Ridge complained aloud to no one in particular. He was thoroughly convinced that his runaway bride had overreacted. He went through ALL this damn preparation, and now it was going to be left up to HIM to explain to his kids why Brooke ran out on their wedding. "And, what exactly am I supposed to tell them, Logan?" Ridge groused.

Truth be told, Ridge was humiliated. He had been made to look like a fool in front of their guests. She said this is what she wanted all her life, Ridge silently raged. His vows were sincere. Hell, he had even given her his paternal grandmother's ring! What more could she have possibly wanted from him?

"She wanted you to put her FIRST for a change, you fool!" Ridge's conscience all but screamed at him. Ridge hung his head in defeat, recognizing the truth when he saw it.

If only he and Brooke could work this out. They could have, too, if everyone else had simply stayed out of it. He and Brooke had always found their way back to one another before. Yet, Ridge knew that this time was different. What could he say to make her understand? How could he possibly explain this—this—mess?

_______________

A bleary eyed Eric still wore the same clothes he had on the day before, spending the worst night of his life shut up in his study. He could neither sleep nor eat. All he could do was sit and think, and every once in a while, weep.

"All these years! ALL these years, and the woman has been lying to me!" Eric raged. He had lost his oldest son and his youngest daughter, all in the same day. This—this was not the son he had raised, Eric thought with horror. This man—this freak—who would—"No! No!" Eric sobbed in anguish, placing his head between his hands as if he could physically blot out the thoughts that were just too abhorrent to be verbalized. Eric doubled over and gripped his lurching stomach, as the bile rose to his throat. However, he could only vomit in dry heaves, as his stomach was empty. He could not believe that son of a bitch, Massimo Marone, was Ridge's father. But, Eric had overheard it with his own ears. Every time Massimo said, "our son," Eric desperately wanted to hear Stephanie tell Massimo that he was crazy, delusional—anything! But, Eric realized much too late that the reason Stephanie did not denounce Massimo's mad ravings was because she could not. Eric had also overheard things about his children that no parent should ever overhear.

Eric's empty stomach was now hurting him. However, the physical discomfort he felt was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil he was experiencing. He slowly stood and began to pace and brood about the disaster that had befallen his family.

Stephanie. His wife. His wife, who was not only a liar, but also a hypocrite and a vindictive one, at that. A manipulative hypocrite that moved out of their home to openly shack up with her lover, while leading him to believe that she was disappointed in HIM. Eric became so incensed about his wife's perfidy that he blindly knocked everything on his desk onto the floor.

_______________

"Oh, Ridge!" Brooke sobbed brokenly. "Why? Why would you do something like this?"

Crystalline tears spilled down her beautiful face. She absently reached for the remote control and flipped on the television, careful not to wake her sister, Katie, who snored lightly on the other side of the suite. Fearing that Brooke had gone mad, Katie had opted to stay with her in the honeymoon suite last night. Brooke could not help but be touched by her sister's concern and support. Nor, could she help admiring Katie's feistiness yesterday, as she had defended her big sister against anyone who dared to hurt her—including Ridge, Bridget, Stephanie and Massimo.

"I wonder how much you would defend me if you knew who Hope's father is?" Brooke asked softly.

Brooke sat up in bed and slowly pulled her knees to her chest. She barely glanced at the television screen. In fact, the movie might as well have been watching her as opposed to her watching it. However, something happened onscreen that immediately caught her attention. Her gold-flecked eyes glittered dangerously as she caught the opening scenes of the movie, "Thin Line Between Love and Hate." The movie was a comedy, starring comedian Martin Lawrence and Lynn Whitfield. While it was played strictly for laughs, Brooke could not help but catch the words of the title song.

All her life she had loved Ridge. She loved him beyond reason and to distraction, almost obsessively. And, he had done nothing but hurt and disappoint her repeatedly. Yet, throughout all of that, she could recall only one instance where she could honestly say that she hated him—Venice. Even when he illegally attempted to wrest control of Forrester Creations from her and attacked her children, Brooke found that she could not hate him. At a time when she could have reveled in his downfall, she had shown him compassion because one of the hands he used for the craft he loved had been damaged. "I could never hate you, Ridge." Brooke whispered. No—not even when he cast aspersions on her beautiful, innocent Hope could she find it within her to hate him. "Boy, what a difference 48 hours make!" Brooke laughed bitterly through her tears.

Throughout the night, she did something that her stubborn mind had refused to do in all the years she had known Ridge. Instead of viewing the kaleidoscope of beautiful memories comprised of romantic moments, she saw a mental montage of all the painful memories that marked her and Ridge's angst-filled relationship. Brooke closed her eyes and sobbed, as she saw herself crying in the rain all those years before when Ridge told her he was going to marry Caroline. And, that was only the beginning of her heartache. From there, she saw herself desperately running as fast as her legs could carry her to the church where Ridge and Taylor were getting married. She had to get to him to tell him about the life growing inside of her. Except, she was too late.

Memories of her pregnancy led Brooke to remember how Ridge delivered their baby at the cabin in Big Bear. "Our beautiful baby—your princess! And, now you want to sleep with her!" She cried.

"Thin line between love and hate?" She whispered. Well, as far as she was concerned, Ridge had crossed it, and this time there would be no going back. The small kernel that germinated on the night of their engagement party finally exploded. Yesterday, she had finally reached the painful realization that she had had enough.

_______________

[MissJr]

Like a man fleeing from an angry mob, Ridge mentally tried to flee from the images of angry faces around him yesterday, unleashing their hurtful epithets and condemnation on his head. Words like "incestuous," being the most painful. Brooke—his Logan—had astounded him with the depths of her pain and anger. His feeble attempts to explain how things could have gotten so far only increased her anger and repugnance toward him. The shocked and angry expressions from the others were just as difficult to acknowledge. Even his own mother, for one of the few times Ridge could remember, briefly looked as if she were embarrassed by something he did.

As long as he lived, people rushed to shield him from judgment and to absolve him of responsibility for all manner of tomfoolery. They not only defended his behavior, but found "logical" explanations for it. On the few occasions when he was actually taken to task for his misbehavior, it usually amounted to being told to "go and sin no more," while receiving a slap on the wrist and a wink. Usually, it was always someone else's fault. Others—usually the women he hurt—were vilified and reviled, while he, himself, was rewarded and escaped relatively unscathed. More often than not, Ridge could count on his mother to swoop in like an avenging angel to clean up the messes he made, while ensuring that he was shielded from the punishments he deserved. His mother, Caroline, Brooke, Taylor and even Bridget—they had all entered into what amounted to an unwitting conspiracy of silence, where fingers were invariably pointed elsewhere for the things that had gone wrong in their lives. Meanwhile, Ridge benefited from their hero worship, while the women blithely ignored that he was often the primary source of their pain. Ridge had become so accustomed to this that it never occurred to him to feel insulted by the infantization that stunted his emotional growth for so long.

For the first time, he allowed the tears to fall that he had stoically held in check the previous evening. Brooke's repeated references to Bridget as her "little girl," hit him like a ton of bricks. At one time, he, himself, referred to Bridget the same way—his little girl and his princess.

_______________

"How could everything have gone so wrong?" Stephanie wondered. This was the very home where she raised her children, hosted holiday parties, family gatherings and weddings. It was the same home where her grandchildren played. It was the home she and Eric placed a down payment on when they were flush with the earnings from their first successful showing 40 years ago. Now, all because of a mistake, she had been banished from it.

Yesterday was a day that she had greeted with irritation. When the wedding was abruptly halted, Stephanie could barely contain her joy. However, as the afternoon wore on, her joy was tempered with a sense of dread. She felt like a rat that was cornered. Massimo had given her an ultimatum; she had to worry about an angry and bitter Brooke; and the child that Brooke gave birth to—Bridget—was a loose cannon, who could not be trusted to reign in her emotions even in front of the friends and relatives who had assembled to see Ridge and Brooke marry. When she realized that Eric was nowhere to be found, Stephanie was desperate to get to him to tell him the truth before someone else did. Unfortunately, circumstances forced her to spend the night at Ridge's house instead. All of Stephanie's efforts at damage control had come to naught. Now, she was too late, and her world had come crashing down around her ears.

Stephanie suddenly plopped down on the lawn—an uncharacteristically unladylike action for her. Right now, looking like a lady was of little importance to her. Nor, did she particularly care that her beautiful, soft pink day suit would be ruined by grass stains. Stephanie's tear-blurred eyes trained on an item that brought everything home to her. She picked up the shattered Waterford crystal picture frame that held her and Eric's second marriage certificate. The broken picture frame had been a belated wedding gift from Taylor.

Everything that mattered to her was gone. All because of a lie—no an omission! All because of that man. "Massimo!" Stephanie bitterly spat. He wasn't satisfied until he had destroyed everything dear to her. And, Brooke had made it SO easy!

"If only she had used her common sense!" Stephanie hissed angrily. Brooke knew the truth. Yet, instead of canceling the wedding and walking out of Ridge's life forever, the little fool was determined to go through with it anyway. "Damn her!" Stephanie hissed bitterly.

Like a hurricane, the storm warnings that started in Portofino, gained velocity at the altar, and then ripped through the mansion that Ridge had once shared with her beloved and much-missed daughter-in-law, Taylor. In its wake, several lives were shattered and forever destroyed.

_______________

"Mr. Eric?" Helen asked fearfully, seeing the disheveled man in front of her. She had come running when she heard the loud crash coming from Eric's study.

"Helen, please leave me alone." Eric snapped. Helen's hurt expression caused Eric to apologize. "I’m sorry, Helen. I just have a lot on my mind right now." Eric explained gently.

"I understand, Mr. Eric. By the way, do you know why Miss Stephanie's things are outside? She will be so upset. If you want, I can have Raul and Johnny clean up everything before she comes home." Helen suggested. However, Eric's bleak expression gave her pause.

"Leave them." Eric barked.

"Well, will Miss Stephanie be coming home soon?"

"No." Eric replied shortly. A surprised Helen immediately left Eric alone.

Eric was outraged at the prospect of sharing a home with Stephanie again. In fact, when he numbly drove home from Ridge's house yesterday, it had been his intent to pack his bags and move out. However, when he walked into the California mission-style mansion, he changed his mind about leaving. Why should HE be the one to leave? He asked himself. Instead, Eric immediately rushed upstairs and like a man possessed, emptied out Stephanie's drawers and closets and dumped everything of hers that he could carry out onto the front lawn.

_______________

Freda Frump, the society editor for Sunset People, a newspaper devoted solely to the comings and goings and peccadilloes of Los Angeles' elite and the inhabitants of the city's A-List, could barely contain her glee. She had been covering society weddings for over 20 years. She particularly loved Forrester weddings, which always proved to be glamorous, exciting and dramatic. Frankly, Freda was fascinated by Ridge Forrester's nearly annual "out with the old, in with the new" trips to the altar. "Humph! At least THIS time, he let seven years go by!" She hooted. Although, from what she observed, Taylor Forrester's corpse had barely taken up residence in its new home before her widower started sniffing around his ex-wife again. Brooke Logan was equally fascinating, as well, and with HER, there was never a shortage of gossip. The prospect of these two trolloping down the aisle yet again sent Freda into a euphoric state that could only be described as orgasmic. While there appeared to be no discernible reason why the wedding would not go off without a hitch, Freda kept her well-manicured fingers crossed. And, she wasn't disappointed!

Freda was a throwback to legendary and formidable gossip columnists, Louella Parsons and Hedda Hopper. During their time, both women were admired, feared and despised and practically ruled Hollywood. They knew their power and shamelessly wielded it. Studio heads and movie stars alike kowtowed to the two dragons. Like Hedda Hopper, Freda had a weakness for elaborate hats. The more over-the-top the hat was, the better. She also loved designer suits and made sure her milliner designed her hats to match her suits and shoes exactly. Everyday, Freda dressed as if she were attending an Easter parade, and could usually be seen with a slender cigarette holder dangling from her deeply rouged lips.

Like her legendary predecessors, Freda was also admired, feared, despised and practically kowtowed to. Like courtiers and lowly serfs seeking favor from a queen, the rich and powerful paid Freda tribute, using lavish praise, gifts (including hats) and invitations to four-star events, such as Oscar Night soirees, to curry Freda's favor. Freda used her pen to extol the virtues of those who were in her favor. For those who incurred her wrath, contempt and displeasure, Freda used her poison pen to rip them to shreds. She was so powerful that she managed to gain entrée to events that were off limits to other columnists and reporters. In fact, it was rumored that she was the only one who was allowed to photograph the front of Jennifer Aniston's wedding dress for publication.

When Freda smelled a good story, she was like a hound dog—following and uncovering every lead until she hit pay dirt. She had already detected an undercurrent of something decidedly unclean hovering over Ridge Forrester's Bel Air mansion. When Freda and her photographer arrived at the mansion for the wedding, she was not in the door 5 minutes before she commandeered the groom's mother and started the carping and provoking that were as second nature to her as breathing.

FLASHBACK:

"Stephanie, dearest!" Freda had exclaimed, greeting the Forrester matriarch with a bitchy air kiss that barely touched Stephanie's rosy cheek.

"Freda," Stephanie coolly replied, mimicking the columnist's actions with her own bitchy air kiss.

"Lovely day for a wedding, isn't it?" Freda had asked.

"If you say so," Stephanie had replied noncommittally.

"Dear, forgive me for saying this, but there is something SO oppressive about the air in this room!" Freda had exclaimed.

"Oppressive?"

"Yes, dear. The aura—the air is just so—FOUL!" Freda announced dramatically.

"Maybe that's the mulch you smelled when you passed the gardens." Stephanie snippily replied, deeply offended at what she perceived as a personal attack against her son and the home he shared with his late wife.

"Ah, yes—the gardens! By the way, isn't that where your daughter-in-law is buried? Apparently, your son didn't think twice about having his wedding in this house with his wife buried just outside." Freda sniffed. "I imagine she's turning in her grave at the very thought of it."

"I would hardly think that my son's late wife is an appropriate subject for discussion—especially on this black day." Stephanie retorted. "Now, I don't know what you think you smell, but if you ask me, the whole thing is a figment of your over-active imagination."

"Oh, please! I hardly think so!" Freda rudely snapped. "Stephanie, this room could smell like gardenias, and the air would still be foul and malodorous."

"Then, maybe it's your upper lip you're smelling." Stephanie muttered impolitely under her breath, yet loud enough for Freda to hear.

However, Freda, highly amused at what she thought was Stephanie's attempt to "out-bitch" her, was not to be outdone. First, she dramatically sniffed the air around her. She then directed her attention to the photographer at her side, who looked distinctly uncomfortable as Stephanie's laser-like eyes angrily shot daggers at him and Freda.

"Do you smell that, Jimmy?" Freda asked.

"Smell, what?" Jimmy dumbly asked, growing increasingly uncomfortable. He knew his employer well, and knew she would show her ass eventually. You simply couldn't take the woman anywhere, he thought with disgust.

Freda fixed her malevolent stare on Stephanie before replying. "The smell of mendacity, of course!" Freda smugly replied, as her eyes narrowed. "Of course, you do know what I'm referring to, don't you, Stephanie, dear?" She asked in a voice dripping with syrupy sweetness.

"Freda, I have no idea what you're babbling about. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"You don't know?" Freda asked in mock horror. "Why dear, it's the smell of dishonesty, deceit and fabrications. In other words—lies! It practically pulsates from these walls. In fact, the air is just thick with it! Oh, if only these walls could talk! But, you know, I detect something even more rancid lurking about. I can't quite place my finger on it, but I intend to find out what it is." Freda announced, shrewdly observing the tiny beads of perspiration that had started to form over Stephanie's upper lip.

_______________

[MissJr]

BACK TO THE PRESENT:

Bridget trudged to the kitchen in her small, but neat apartment. She opened the refrigerator and stared inside for several minutes—a life-long habit that used to drive her mother nuts. She reached for a carton of vanilla soymilk and a container of fresh raspberries and closed the refrigerator. After fixing a bowl of her favorite granola cereal with the milk and raspberries, Bridget seated herself on one of the stools in the tiny breakfast nook in her kitchen. She placed her bowl of cereal on the Formica countertop. The ivory wedding invitation, overlaid with sheer Japanese lace paper and a ribbon caught her attention.

It wasn't supposed to be this way, she wanly thought. She should have been at Ridge's house right now comforting those poor children, who were so confused by everything that happened yesterday. Her mother had done all this plotting, scheming, begging and crying to make Ridge hers again. And, for what? Only to turn around and leave him at the altar and upsetting those children! Ridge would need some comfort after being so unceremoniously rejected at the altar yesterday. That's something else she should have been doing that very morning. Instead, she—Bridget—had been treated like a pariah and ordered home. Why, practically everyone had turned on her and Ridge yesterday. That poor man had just gone through hell, and people acted as if HE was the one who did wrong. Her Aunt Katie and Uncle Storm sure had plenty of nasty things to say. Even worse, Stephanie, who had been her champion last year, seemed to turn on her, too. She had even kept that old heifer's secret for her, and THIS was the thanks she got!

"Why?" Bridget asked mournfully. "What did I do that was so terrible?"

It just wasn't fair! She huffed. She, who had been so used to being coddled, protected and praised for her beauty, intelligence and goodness, was suddenly the object of open hostility and scorn. "No one understands!" Bridget pouted. The only one who did understand was Massimo. He recognized early on that it was she who was the right woman for Ridge. And, the thought of her mother raising those precious children Taylor left behind made her sick at heart. "She would bring nothing but scandal and chaos into their lives. Massimo was right. I AM the perfect person to raise those children."

Bridget was actually astonished by her and her mother's apparent reversal in roles within the space of two days.

"Amazing!" Bridget shook her head in disgust while downing a mouthful of cereal. It seemed that her mother had this incredible knack for making herself always look like the victim. "It was nothing but 'how could you do this to poor Brooke?'" Bridget complained angrily. When did SHE become the victim? HOW did she become the victim? Meanwhile, no one wanted to hear about the nasty and hurtful things her mother had done with Deacon. "She spread her legs for him, and then she had a baby with him!" What about her and HER pain? Bridget angrily thought, her luminous eyes fairly snapping.

Ridge had understood and sympathized with her plight. He even encouraged her to express her anger. They seemed to have something beautiful, and then it was ruined. She was willing to step aside for her mother's sake. And, instead of people appreciating the sacrifice she made for the sake of the family, they treated her as if SHE was the evil and nasty one!

Bridget was convinced that when her mother left Ridge at the altar that the fates had smiled down on her. Now, Ridge acted as if she didn't exist—as if she were an interloper. It appeared that Ridge wanted to be with her mother after all. Even worse, he wanted to raise Hope as his own.

"BLECH!" Bridget dramatically wretched, thoroughly disgusted at the notion that Ridge would want to even touch her mother and Deacon's lovechild. He was even going to take Hope on their honeymoon, while he left his "real" children behind.

Bridget really wanted to do the right thing. While she felt bad that her mother was so hurt by everything that happened, she was not about to deny her feelings for Ridge. In Bridget's mind, the love that Ridge and her mother shared was carnal. However, what she and Ridge shared was different. It was pure, honorable and transcended something as base as sex.

"I know it's wrong, but I don't care. They are NOT going to make our love seem dirty. I have to find a way for me and Ridge to be together. I just have to." Bridget declared.

_______________

"Hey, sis." Katie yawned sleepily from across the suite.

"Hey, yourself." Brooke half smiled, as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

Katie grabbed her robe, walked across the room and sat in a wingback chair facing Brooke.

"I suppose you're going to tell me to stop crying and that he's not worth anymore of my tears." Brooke said.

"Uh, actually, no." Katie replied.

"You're not?"

"Look, Brooke. I realize it's unrealistic to expect you to get over this overnight. So, you just go ahead and cry, scream or yell if you want to. Just know that Stormy and I are here for you. The only thing I WILL say is that he is definitely not worth your tears."

"I know he's not, but I just can't stop crying. By the way, you were magnificent yesterday."

"Thanks; so were you. I was just calling it the way I saw it. I mean, the whole thing just grossed me out. There are times when I really can't believe that Bridget is your daughter." Katie stated, shaking her head. "Are you sure she wasn't switched at birth or something?"

"No, no—Katie. Don't do that!" Brooke protested. "I said some very hurtful things to Bridget yesterday, but she's still my child. I just can't give up on her. Besides, she had every reason to be upset with me."

"Well, she made some smart comment about you and Deacon. What was that all about anyway?" Katie asked. "Don't tell me that she's still whining because you and Eric didn't approve of her marrying that lowlife."

Brooke had the good grace to look embarrassed. "It's horrible, Katie. While it doesn't excuse what those two did, I could understand it if Bridget wanted to get back at me."

"Get back at you for what?"

"Deacon and I—" Brooke started haltingly.

"Yes?" Katie asked expectantly.

"Do you remember last year when I stupidly pursued Ridge again? And, do you remember how he followed me to Paris? I thought we would get back together, and it didn't happen. I was in a pretty bad place at that time and felt as if I wanted to die."

"Okay ... but what does this have to do with Deacon?"

"I thought Deacon and I connected on some strange level, and we—we—oh, God! This is so hard!"

"Brooke, come on!" Katie snapped in exasperation. "Out with it!"

"Katie, Deacon and I had an affair! I slept with my daughter's husband!" Brooke cried.

"Oh—God." Katie said numbly.

"Five times—I slept with him, and, that isn't all."

"Good Lord! You mean there's more?" A thunderstruck Katie asked.

"Well, Deacon is also Hope's father." Brooke quietly answered.

"Whaaaaaattt?!" Katie cried out. "Brooke—how? I mean, I know how, but ... I don't get it. I thought you hated this guy. Like, you complained about him to me all the time. It doesn't quite compute."

"I know. It's not something I'm proud of, Katie. And, I'm ashamed that I even had to tell you about this."

"Brooke, this is a lot to digest. I mean, you bad-mouthed Deacon and all, complaining about his smoking, his clothes, his crude manners, and the way he treated Bridget. You even complained about his hygiene. And, you SLEPT with him?"

"You think I'm horrid, don't you?"

"I don't know what to think, to be honest with you. Like I said, I don't get it. Deacon wasn't good enough for Bridget, but he was suddenly good enough for you?"

"Katie, there's no excuse for what I did. I wish I could have done things differently. But, the one thing I will never regret is having Hope."

"Of course, you shouldn't." Katie said firmly. "But, I gotta tell you ... what was that thing that Grandma Logan used to say when we were teenagers when she tried to warn us about the dangers of premarital sex?"

"Grandma Logan?" Brooke asked in confusion.

"Yeah—oh, you know! Something about how 20 minutes of fun can result in 21 years of heartache and aggravation. Now, you're going to have to deal with Deacon for the rest of Hope's life."

"Well, let's hear it for Grandma Logan's platitudes!" Brooke laughed self-deprecatingly. "I'm just so glad she can't see the mess that I've made of things. She would be so ashamed of me. She and Mom did not raise me to live like this."

"Brooke, Grandma Logan would definitely disapprove, but don't think for a second that she would love you any less. By the way, do Mom and Dad know?"

"No." Brooke replied softly. "Neither does Rick, and I'm going to have to tell him. I should have told him once Eric found out. I've already made up my mind to tell Rick and Amber everything when I get home."

"You mean, Eric knows? What about Ridge? Does he know?"

"Yeah—he knows." Brooke responded miserably, her eyes tearing again at the memory of that revelation. "The way he found out was terrible, but I'm glad he knows."

"Let me guess. He didn't take the news well." Katie remarked sarcastically.

"That's the understatement of the year." Brooke laughed shortly. "No, he didn't take it well. I was actually on the verge of telling him myself since our relationship had progressed to another level, but Deacon interrupted and told him instead. Ridge was furious. He said some really cruel and spiteful things about me and Hope. He said I wasn't morally fit to raise his children. He even took me by the arm and demanded that I take my baby and go. I could take his criticism of me, but treating Hope the way he did because of who her father is—"

"Oh, Brooke! And, you STILL wanted to marry him after THAT?" Katie demanded, getting riled up.

"Katie—"

"No, Brooke! Uh-uh! HELL no! That bastard. He's getting it on behind your back with the girl he raised as HIS child, and YOU'RE unfit to be around his kids? And, Hope isn't good enough to be around them either? Son of a bitch!"

"Why, Katie! You've developed quite the temper over the years, haven't you?" Brooke teased.

"Well, I'm sorry. I can tolerate a lot, but the one thing I can't abide is hypocrisy. That's why I'm pissed off at you, too, for sleeping with Deacon, the way you did. After all the sh*t you said about him, too! And, now we have RIDGE—Mr. Wonderful—passing judgment on people. Plus, Hope is such a beautiful baby, and it angers me that you let him get away with what he did."

"Well, I’m not particularly proud of that either. Seems I let Ridge get away with a lot, doesn't it? I should have defended my angel, but I know one damn thing."

"What's that?" Katie asked, fire in her eyes.

"I don't want that perv—that bastard anywhere NEAR my baby!"

_______________

[MissJr]

"Oh, Nicky!" Jackie squealed with delight. "Ashbourne Butter Shortbread biscuits. Darling, you shouldn't have!" She said, as her son presented her with a tin of her favorite English biscuits.

"I know how much you enjoy them." Nick replied.

"Of course, you'll be joining me for high tea later."

"Tea?" Nick snorted in amusement. "You're kidding with that, aren't you? You know I don't go for that shee-shee-foo-foo stuff," Nick said, as he bent down and bussed his mother's cheek.

"What am I going to do with you?" Jackie sighed in mock exasperation. "One would think you have no interest whatsoever in the refinements. And, when—oh, when—do you intend to shave off that scruffy beard?"

"Scruffy? Hey! Now, you can insult my lack of couth, and you can insult my taste in clothes. You can EVEN insult my living quarters, but insult my beard ... them's fightin' words!" Nick laughed. His laughter was so infectious that Jackie could not help but laugh herself.

"So, sorry! It's just that, you're such a handsome young man, and you insist on hiding your face beneath all that hair. It's not as if you have spots or anything."

"Well, I happen to like all this hair. I think it makes me look—oh, I don't know—quite dashing."

"Like a pirate at sea?" Jackie teased, as she poured Nick a cup of coffee.

"Something like that. What's all this interest in my beard anyway?"

"Well, one has to think of one's future, you know. I just think that a clean-shaven face is much more presentable in the business world, that's all." Jackie said, with a studied air of indifference. However, Nick was not fooled.

"Um hmm ... I suppose this has nothing to do with that position with Marone, does it?"

"Now, why would you think that?" Jackie asked, the picture of innocence. "I mean, you could do much worse than working with Marone Industries. You would have complete autonomy just the way you do now. Besides—you can learn a lot from Massimo Marone."

"Oh, really? " Nick laughed. "What am I supposed to learn exactly? Lessons from a lout?"

"A lout?" Jackie laughed nervously. "Now, darling, don't you think that's a bit strong?"

"Nope! Not at all. I mean, look at it this way, Mom. The men I work with may look like a bunch of uncouth roughnecks, but at least we're not a bunch of thugs in pinstriped suits hiding behind courtly, old-world manners and pretending to be something we're not."

"Nicky!" A shocked Jackie said.

"Sorry, Mom, but Massimo Marone's greatness doesn't move me. I found out some things recently about that guy that would make your hair stand on end."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"It's nothing I care to reveal right now. Let's just say that he's not a nice person."

"I see," Jackie said thoughtfully. "Well, no one is saying that you have to LIKE Massimo, but would you at least give some serious consideration to his offer?"

"Actually, I've given it plenty of consideration."

"And?"

"And, I'm still thinking about it. Besides, I like what I'm doing now."

"Of course you do. It's just that it's time to start thinking of your future. You know, things like establishing some roots. It also includes settling down with a young lady—you know, someone like Brooke Logan."

"Someone like Brooke Logan, huh?" Nick laughed. "Mom, you're losing your touch. You're usually a lot more subtle than this!"

"Well ... you DO fancy her, do you not?"

"What's not to 'fancy'?"

"Good. Then, it's settled." Jackie stated with finality.

"Settled? Mom, did you spike your coffee with cooking sherry or something? First of all, I hardly know Ms. Logan. Besides, she's no longer an option, and I'm not into breaking up other people's relationships."

"I can assure you that I am NOT drunk, thank you very much. And, trust me, you won't be breaking up anything at this point."

"She married Forrester yesterday, or did you forget? They should be off on their honeymoon as we speak."

"But, that's what I've been trying to tell you, you great fool! Brooke Logan is most certainly not married."

"What do you mean she's not married?" A confused Nick squinted.

"What I mean, Nicky, is that I have it on great authority that your Ms. Logan and that Ridge Forrester person did NOT get married yesterday."

_______________

Stephanie angrily stood and brushed the loose grass off her slacks and the back of her jacket. "This is ridiculous!" She said, her eyes flashing angrily. This was HER home, too. There was no way in the world she was going to just roll over and play dead and make it easy for Eric to just put her out. No way in hell!

Stephanie strode to the front door. She opened the tiny pink clutch purse in her hand and took out her keys. She did not care if she did look a mess right now. She wanted to speak to Eric inside the house. She had to make him understand exactly what happened, and she would be damned if some vindictive "family mattress" was going to have the last word.

Stephanie put her key into the keyhole and attempted to turn it. However, nothing happened. "Now, what?" An exasperated Stephanie muttered. It seemed nothing was going right for her this morning. She tried repeatedly to unlock the door, but was unsuccessful. She felt her frustration mounting and began to jerk the key in the keyhole.

"Stephanie, just calm down." Stephanie murmured to herself. It was obvious that she was getting herself worked up, and this was not good for her stress level. The California sun started to beat down on her, and she began to perspire. If she could just get in the house and get out of these clothes and into a shower, then she would feel so much better. Stephanie gave herself a moment to get her bearings. She then tried to unlock the front door again, but the lock stubbornly refused to budge. By this time, her worry turned into anger. "What is going on here?" She snapped.

It was then that a light bulb finally went off in her head, and the painful truth struck her like a brutal slap in the face.

"Why, he changed the damn locks!" She said furiously. NOW, what was she supposed to do?

_______________

Freda Frump knew she was onto something. Brooke Logan was the key to this whole mystery, she thought. "That girl would have done anything to marry Ridge, and she dumps him at the altar? HAH!" Freda crowed. Her initial inquiries to some of the wedding guests had gone unanswered, with a stoic "no comment." However, Freda was not about to be deterred from her mission. There was something big brewing in that mansion, and she was going to uncover it. Something big, stinking and rotten. Ridge Forrester personally invited her to cover his wedding, and now he wanted to keep his mouth shut? "I think not!" Freda smirked. "You can't have it both ways, Ridge, honey." She had already gotten a kernel or two of information from which to start. Among the servants and chauffeurs of the rich and famous, their hairdressers, manicurists, as well as being personally acquainted with nearly every maitre d' and valet of every fashionable restaurant, Freda had a network of informants that would have rivaled the CIA's. "Honey, my spies are everywhere!" was her favorite slogan. She would make a few discreet inquiries and call in some favors, but, right now, she had a wedding to report on. "Or a very public dumping!" Freda laughed aloud.

Freda looked at her laptop in disdain. She was not about to mess up her nails typing herself. That's what she had assistants for. She immediately phoned her office at Sunset People.

"Stop the presses!" Freda announced in her dramatic manner. "Boy, do I have a story to tell you!" She chortled to the assistant unfortunate enough to take her call. "I want you to get me the full names of Ridge Forrester's nanny, as well as the housekeeper for Brooke Logan, and I want them, like, yesterday." Freda imperiously commanded. She then proceeded to dictate the latest gossip for her column, which was full of her characteristic bitchery, wit, and irreverence for the rich and famous.

_______________

"Amber, thank you so much for watching Hope for me." Brooke said, never once dreaming of the day when she would be grateful to her son's wife for anything.

"It's no problem, Brooke. Hope is such a good baby and I just love her. I think Eric was a little jealous though. He's never had to compete for attention."

"Awwww! Well, let Little Eric know that I'll be home later this morning, and then he'll be able to have you all to himself." Brooke teased.

Amber could not help but smile. If anyone had ever told her that she and Brooke could have a civil conversation, she would have never believed it.

"Well, you take all the time you want, Brooke. Rick and I are just glad that you're okay. Would you like to talk to him? He's right here."

"Sure, and thanks again, Amber."

Brooke overheard a slight shuffling noise, as Amber handed Rick the telephone.

"Mom? Are you sure, you're okay? Amber says you are, but I just want to make sure." Rick asked worriedly.

"About as well as can be expected, honey."

"Good. By the way, where are you?"

"Would you believe that I'm staying at the Beverly Wilshire in the honeymoon suite?" Brooke laughed ruefully.

"Mom ... don't you think that was a mistake?"

"Well, I was so out of it yesterday, it seemed to be the most logical place to go at the time. But, your Aunt Katie is here with me."

"Good. I was worried and I didn't think you should be alone. By the way, you-know-WHO has been calling here every hour on the hour."

"Now, you can see why I didn't come home last night." Brooke complained.

"Don't worry, Mom. I put his butt in check quick, fast and in a hurry."

"Wow!" Brooke laughed. "By the way, did you hear from your sister?" Brooke soberly asked.

"No, I haven’t. Mom, I don't know what's going on with you and Budge, but I've been picking up on some weird vibes between you two in the last few months."

"I know, baby, and that's something I want to talk to you and Amber about when I get home."

_______________

[MissJr]

"I don't get it. I thought Brooke and Forrester—" Nick started.

"I know. Not that I'm reveling in her misfortunes or anything, but darling, this is just providence. I know it!"

"Providence?" Nick laughed.

"Why, yes." Jackie responded, deadly serious.

"And, how do you know that Brooke and Forrester didn't get married yesterday."

"Let's just say that a little bird told me that the bride left the groom at the altar."

Nick whistled, surprised at what he just heard. "You're kidding!" He said in disbelief. "I wonder what happened?"

"I don't know what happened, but don't you see, Nicky? Now, is your chance!" Jackie said excitedly.

"My chance at what?"

"To pursue your Ms. Logan free of impediments, of course! Cor blimey! You are quite thick this morning."

"I'm not being thick, Mom," Nick replied thoughtfully. "I just fail to share your enthusiasm, that's all. I mean, she did just break up with the guy."

"Now, Nicky. It's so obvious that you have been quite taken with this lady ever since the two of you met. It's been 'Ms. Logan this'; 'Brooke Logan that.' You've never been hesitant about going after what you wanted before. So, you'll have to forgive me if I am a bit flummoxed at your apparent lack of fervor."

"Fervor?" Nick howled in laughter. "You're right. I have never hesitated to go after what I wanted before. But, I won't be goaded into anything either. If I choose to pursue Brooke, it will be because it's my choice."

"Of course it is." Jackie coyly said. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

_______________

Minnie Pearl Baylor wiped the tears from her eyes and loudly blew her nose. She was planted in front of her floor-model television set in the living room of her San Fernando Valley home. Her favorite morning show, "The Shannon Reed Show," was on. After breakfast with her husband of 40 years, Roy Paul Baylor, and their two grandchildren, Minnie Pearl usually settled down with a cup of coffee and Shannon Reed. She had always been drawn to the show's human-interest stories on a variety of subjects. This particular morning, Shannon paid rapt attention to her special guest, a lovely young woman, who, from the riveting tale she told, had been through hell and back.

"Hi, this is Shannon Reed, and I'm back with my guest, who's one of my favorite chanteuses." Shannon grinned from the television screen, with her perfect white smile, sunny disposition and a cascade of gold-tipped curls. "It's a strange journey that has you sitting here with us this morning, wouldn't you say?" Shannon turned to her guest, a petite, and lovely and serene redhead.

"You could say that." Shannon's guest smiled gently.

"In fact, people are calling you, 'Miracle Mace!'" Shannon and her guest laughed.

"Well, it IS a miracle!" Macy smiled. "Shannon, I just want to thank you again for having me on your show."

"Well, your story is certainly a fascinating one, not to mention inspirational. You've basically come back from the jaws of death, and from what I understand, you're not the first Forrester wife, who has accomplished that particular feat."

"No, I'm not." Macy smiled self-deprecatingly.

"And, not only that, but you've had to deal with the worst kind of heartbreak—repeated infidelity. That couldn't have been easy." Shannon said sympathetically.

"No, it wasn't." Macy agreed. "It's not easy to love someone only to have them hurt you over and over again."

"You know, that is so true. Macy, you've been so strong throughout this entire ordeal. I mean, nearly dying in that horrible car crash; hiding out from the mob; having a husband who was not only unfaithful BEFORE the accident that supposedly took your life, but AGAIN after you two found your way back to one another again; and now I understand that you had to have an emergency hysterectomy. You've had more trials than any one person can bear."

"That's true, but, bear them I did, Shannon. I realized that I had to be strong—for me. God works in mysterious ways; His wonders to perform."

"That's wonderful! Isn't it, audience?" Shannon grinned, as she looked at the studio audience. The audience members clapped enthusiastically, as the cameras captured their sympathetic and encouraging smiles.

"Thank you," Macy said modestly.

"Now, let me ask you something. Do you remember anything about that awful day? Anything about the accident at all?" Shannon asked with a flip of her bouncy curls. Suddenly, Macy, who had been relaxed, shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, there's hardly anything I remember about that." She said softly.

"I understand that others were hurt."

"That's what I heard, too." Macy replied.

"Do you remember the circumstances that led up to the accident?" Shannon asked.

This time, not only did Macy look uncomfortable, but a deer-caught-in-headlights look suddenly appeared on her lovely face. However, she quickly covered before responding. "No, I don't." She said quietly.

"I see. I realize that this may be a bit uncomfortable for you, but your problems with alcohol addiction have been well documented."

"Yes, they have," Macy simpered.

"Do you remember if you were drinking that day, and if so, do you think that it influenced your behavior that day?"

"Well, Shannon, I readily admit that I did have at least a couple of drinks earlier in the day. As to whether or not it had an impact on my driving, I just don't remember."

"I see. Now, Macy, what about the other woman—no pun intended—in the car? How do you feel about HER surviving the crash and basically just moving on with her life?"

"Well, I bear her no ill will," Macy responded, looking as if butter would not melt in her mouth.

"But, doesn't it anger you just a little that she's gone on with her life—with YOUR husband, and they're not even together anymore? I mean, after all that? You have to be looking at that and thinking, 'what a waste!' I even understand that she got married again to another man yesterday." Shannon said, none too subtly baiting her guest.

This time, Macy's studied mask of serenity was gone, and her eyes flashed angrily.
"Yes, it DOES anger me! Shannon, this is a person who ruins people's lives and doesn't care about anyone but herself. She is selfish beyond belief. I'm just appalled at what she's done to my life and others and that she continues to go unpunished for it. And, as much as I want vengeance—uh—I mean—justice, it's not my place. I believe in God and that vengeance is His. He WILL repay!" Macy firmly stated.

This brought loud applause, cheers, and shouts of "AMEN!" and hoots from the audience, some of whom were on their feet by now.

"You're a very brave and wise soul," Shannon commented, fawning over her guest.

"No—not brave. Just angry and determined that I'm not going to take it anymore." Macy replied. She had the audience in the palm of hand by now, and they cheered and clapped again. When the furor died down, Macy continued. "But, I do have a confession to make, though, Shannon."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well, I nearly had a relapse when I found out about my former husband's latest infidelity." Macy said, as tears began to pool in her eyes.

"No!" Shannon said, affecting shock and horror.

"Yes!" Macy dramatically exclaimed. "But, I couldn't go back there, and I've started going to my meetings again."

"This is just wonderful! I mean, to know your own limitations and deal with them ... " Shannon said in awe. The audience agreed with her, as yet more applause followed Macy's announcement. After the audience stopped applauding, Shannon continued her interview. "Now, Macy, your fans out there would love to know when you're coming out with your next album. I've been a fan of yours for a long time. I also remember going to one of your concerts, and you put on one hell of a show! It's been a while and you have definitely been missed! Right, guys?" Shannon asked her audience, who responded by cheering and clapping.

Macy was touched by the audience's applause. "Thank you all so much. I've also missed recording and touring, Shannon, but rest assured that I will be going back into the studio soon, and hope to have my album out by the fall."

"And, this would be a major comeback for you, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would be, Shannon. But, I would gladly return to my first love—singing. I would gladly come back. That is—if and only if my fans would have me back." Macy said breathlessly.

Before the commercial break, several members of the audience again rose to their feet to shower Shannon's special guest with their love.

Sitting in her living room, Minnie Pearl Baylor again blew her nose, deeply affected by yet another of Shannon Reed's human-interest stories.

_______________

[MissJr]

"I miss my angel so much." Brooke said softly.

"She is an angel, isn't she?" Katie smiled. "But, are you sure you want to tell Rick and Amber about—well, you know ... ?"

"Yes, and I should have done it before. Looking at Stephanie and Massimo made up my mind for me. Rick is the only one who needs to know who doesn't. It was devastating for Bridget when she found out."

"I can only imagine." Katie said softly.

"I hope you can appreciate then why Bridget might have felt the way she did about Ridge and—"

"Oh, no you don't, Brooke! There is absolutely NO excuse for what those two did. None! What you and Deacon did was—well it's the most disgusting thing you've ever done, but don't you think for one minute that that justifies what happened. It doesn't! And, the way they tried to stand there and make it seem like you shouldn't be THAT upset and then acting as if what they did was so 'normal'—please!"

"I know you're right, Katie, but I can't help but feel tremendous guilt for the way I hurt Bridget. She'll never forgive me, and I can't say that I blame her."

"Okay—fine. She doesn't forgive you and probably never will. But, what I don't get is why she and Ridge are both acting as if this was all just a misunderstanding or something. I mean, since when is knowingly swapping spit with a relative a misunderstanding?" Katie asked contemptuously.

"But, they're not related," Brooke coyly commented.

"WHAT?! Surely, you're not buying—" Katie started in consternation.

"Calm yourself, girl!" Brooke laughed. "I was being facetious. Of course, I'm NOT buying it. It's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard in my life. Not to mention hypocritical and disingenuous."

"Whew! You scared me there for a minute. I was starting to wonder if you were replaced by some pod person straight from the imagination of some warped and perverted soap writer!"

"It does seem like we've been in the 'Twilight Zone' lately doesn't it? Do you know that CJ Garrison actually demanded that I step aside and let Bridget have a chance at Ridge?"

"I hope you're joking." Katie said skeptically.

"I kid you not. I'm just relieved to know that I'm not the crazy one, here."

"Well, if you're crazy, then so am I because it would be a cold day in hell before I call that disgusting mess that Ridge and Bridget were engaged in anything other what it was—incest!"

_______________

Bridget jumped at the first ring. She excitedly rushed to the phone, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She knew Ridge would call! She knew it!

"Hello?" She answered breathlessly.

"What's up?" CJ asked.

"Oh ... it's you." Bridget responded, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

"Gee—it's so nice to feel wanted." CJ remarked sarcastically.

"I’m sorry, Ceej. I thought you were someone else, that's all."

"Surely, not Ridge? Aren't he and your mother on their honeymoon?"

"No, they're not."

"They're not?" CJ asked in surprise.

"They didn't get married. My mother called the wedding off." Bridget said, trying to keep her voice on an even keel.

"Hmm. I see." CJ said thoughtfully. "Well, I guess this makes things a lot easier for you then, don't they?"

"I don't know what you mean." Bridget responded demurely.

"Come on, Bridget. This is CJ you're talking to. You're in the cat's bird seat now. Maybe that little talk I had with your mother did get to her."

"Talk? What talk?"

"I—oh sh*t! I told your mother she should step aside and give you a chance to explore your feelings for Ridge."

"You didn't!" Bridget said, barely able to contain the jubilation she felt. CJ was such a good friend, she thought.

"Yeah, I did." CJ said miserably. "Oh, and you don't have to sound so happy about it."

"What's the matter, Ceej? I mean, you don't have a problem with me doing that, do you?" Bridget asked hopefully.

"Damn it, Bridget! Don't you get it? The whole thing was a joke."

"A joke? What do you mean—a joke?"

"All that agreeing with you and stuff when you talked about wanting to see where things went with you and Ridge, I didn't mean it. I mean, it was a joke."

"But—but—"

"Look, Bridget, I'm sorry. When you said that you actually kissed Ridge and said it was like the Fourth of July times 10, the whole thing just grossed me out. I honestly didn't think you would be dumb enough to listen to Massimo or to me." CJ said.

"I don't believe you!" Bridget yelled. "What are you saying?"

"I'm sorry, Bridget, but I didn't think you would go through with it. I was really hoping you would get a clue and come to your senses before things went too far. I mean, this is just too weird."

"Too far? Weird? What are you saying?!" Bridget yelled, now on the verge of hysteria.

"Look—uh—well, I really dug you and all, and I thought we had something really good going. But, I'm not sure if I can go there with you anymore. I mean, sh*t—Bridget, you kissed your brother!"

"He's NOT my brother!" Bridget screamed.

"Bye, Bridget." CJ said, before calmly placing the receiver in the cradle.

_______________

[MissJr]

"Where is she?" Ridge rudely demanded. Amber placed her hand over the receiver and whispered to Rick.

"It's him again." She then handed the phone to a belligerent Rick.

"She's not here. You were told that an hour ago. You were also told an hour ago not to call here anymore!"

"Rick, this doesn't concern you."

"The hell it doesn't!"

"Did you at least hear from her? Could you at least tell me where she is?" Ridge asked, his voice twinged with desperation.

"No, and NO!" Rick yelled. "I don't know what you did this time, but I know you did something to hurt my mom. She would have never run out on her wedding like that."

"Look, I don't know what you heard, or what your mother thinks she knows or saw or heard, but—"

"What she THINKS she saw or heard? How about maybe she finally saw the light?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're excused. In fact, you were DISMISSED at the altar! Now, don't call here any damn more!" Rick screamed before slamming the receiver down.

_______________

"Roy Paul!" Minnie Pearl Baylor screamed. Roy Paul Baylor, a big lumberjack of a man, rushed into the living room to find his wife dissolved into a sobbing heap on their floral living room couch.

"What in the world is wrong with you?" Roy Paul asked in consternation.

"Look!" Minnie Pearl tearfully shouted as she pointed at the television screen. Roy Paul's eyes followed the direction of his wife's finger. He shrugged in bewilderment and then became annoyed. All he saw was a cute little redhead with the voice of an angel singing her heart out.

"Now, I told you about getting yourself all worked up watching that nonsense. Between that Shannon lady and Oprah, you go through a whole box of Kleenex in a week." Roy Paul complained. He then angrily grabbed the remote control.

"No! Don't you DARE change that channel!" Minnie Pearl snapped. Roy Paul merely looked at his wife as if she had taken total leave of her senses. She then pointed at the TV screen again. "LOOK!! It's her!"

"Her?"

"Yes—HER! That's the woman that killed Barbara Jean. That's the woman that killed our child!"

_______________

[MissJr]

"Good morning, Beverly Wilshire, Beverly Hills. May I help you?"

"Good morning." Ridge gruffly responded. "Get me reservations, please."

"One moment, sir."

Ridge was placed on hold for barely two seconds before the reservations clerk answered.

"May I help you?"

"Yes. This is Ridge Forrester. I booked the honeymoon suite yesterday. Well, I ended up not needing it, and I know it's too late to cancel, but—"

"One moment, Mr. Forrester, and let me check that for you." The clerk said. "Usually, if you don't cancel by 4:00, we'll charge your card."

"I realize that." Ridge snapped, his headache returning. "But, I had no way of knowing that I wouldn't need it."

"I understand, sir. Actually, Mr. Forrester, I'm showing that someone checked into that particular suite last night—two adults."

"That's impossible." Ridge argued. "I don't know what kind of operation you people are running, but I'm not paying for your incompetence."

"Sir, if you could wait a moment, I can check further." The clerk assured the disgruntled Ridge. "Yes, here it is. Apparently, a Brooke Logan checked into the honeymoon suite at 7:00 last night."

"Logan!" Ridge whispered, taking a moment to digest this information. Did the clerk say that TWO adults checked into that suite last night? Oh no. She wouldn't! She COULDN'T—not on their wedding night!

"Mr. Forrester?" The worried clerk asked.

"I'm sorry. Excuse me, miss, but do you know if Ms. Logan checked out yet? Is she still there?"

"I have no confirmation of her checking out as of yet, sir. Apparently, when the reservation was made, you asked for a late checkout."

"Yes ... yes. I—WE did." Ridge responded, barely able to contain his excitement.

"Sir, shall I ring that room for you?"

"NO!" Ridge exploded. "I'm sorry," he immediately apologized. "Thanks for your help. Thank you!"

Ridge hung up the phone and clapped his hands. At last! He finally knew where she was. He wasn't making any more damn phone calls. There was no way that Logan was getting away from him—not this time. And, if she was there with someone else, it was going to be so ON!

_______________

"Eric! Please open the door!" Stephanie repeatedly pounded on the heavy door until her knuckles were practically stinging. She continued to knock and pound on the door as small rivulets of perspiration ran down her back.

Tired from the effort, Stephanie leaned against the door. She then recollected herself and proceeded to pound and knock on the door again. "Eric! Let me in!" She yelled.

Suddenly the door flew open and she was face to face with an enraged Eric. Stephanie, whose fist was in midair, suddenly dropped it. She no longer recognized the usually debonair silver fox, who could make even the hearts of 20-year-old women swoon. Stephanie was also taken aback by the depth of unconcealed hatred on her husband's face.

"What do YOU want?" Eric angrily demanded.

"I want to come in." Stephanie said, now on the verge of tears. "We have so much we need to talk about. I would prefer to do it inside, and not out here."

"You have no need to come back here." Eric coldly replied. "Or, didn't you notice your packed bag and the rest of your things outside?"

"Eric, please! This is so—so—undignified."

"Undignified? Like the undignified way you shamed me in front of my children by moving out of this house to openly live with Massimo? Or, like the undignified way you and your lovechild attempted to wrest control of the company and my estate from the rest of MY children?"

"Lovechild?" Stephanie asked indignantly. "Eric—no! Ridge is your son. YOUR son!"

"That's not what I heard. I also heard that YOUR son has been doing indecent things with MY daughter!"

"No, no, Eric!" Stephanie shook her head in denial. "You've got it all wrong. I can explain, if you would just simply let me come in."

"You are no longer welcome in this house." Eric said firmly.

"You don't mean that. Don't let that slut—that tramp—Brooke and her malicious lies come between us." Stephanie begged. Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing that she had pushed a button that should have never been pushed.

"Malicious? Lies? Woman, isn't your cup of abominations full enough? Must you add hypocrisy to it, also?" Eric sneered. "And you want to talk about someone being a slut? You have your nerve."

"Eric, please! We can make this right." Stephanie said in a futile attempt to convince him.

"All these years, it was 'slut' this, and 'slut' that!" Eric fumed. "Meanwhile, the REAL slut was living in this house all along!"

"Eric!" Stephanie gasped in shock.

"Go back to your lover and let HIM take you in. Or, go to your son's house. I don't care where you go, but you're not spending another night under this roof."

"Eric—wait—"

"Get the hell off my property!" Eric sneered before viciously slamming the door in Stephanie's face.

[GIOVANNA]

Awesome!! I want MORE!

[newestconvert]

great writing MissJr! more please!!

[MissJr]

CHAPTER 1 – "IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK"

Massimo Marone gingerly wiped the corners of his mouth with a white linen napkin, a delicate action for such a big man. After placing the napkin on the table, he nodded his head, signaling to the waiter that he had completed his meal. Not missing a beat, the waiter moved quickly and methodically cleared Massimo's table of the remnants of his breakfast. Not wanting to be the recipient of one of Massimo's nasty putdowns, he was careful not to get any crumbs on the floor or to splatter or spill anything on Massimo's expensive suit. For his part, Massimo watched the waiter squirm, inordinately pleased with even this small fraction of evidence of the power he wielded over so many others.

One of the many perks he enjoyed was having a catered breakfast delivered to his office suite. Accustomed to having his every whim instantly gratified, he insisted that his meals be prepared one way only—his way. That usually meant rich, flavorful foods, which were prepared with little regard for their nutritional value or caloric content. This morning, he enjoyed eggs and lobster benedict, buttery croissants and, hand-made sausage links (pork, of course) sautéed with apples and onions. Massimo patted his stomach in satisfaction, feeling little, if any, concern or embarrassment about his growing girth. To his way of thinking, a round belly was a sign of wealth and prosperity. Rather than his customary cup of coffee, Massimo poured himself a self-congratulatory glass of champagne—a 1990 vintage Dom Perignon Rosè. Although it was a bit early to imbibe, Massimo asked himself, "why not?" After all, he had so much to celebrate! "Salute!" He loudly exclaimed in Italian. He then laughed aloud and sipped his champagne.

For starters, next month, he would be featured in Forbes Magazine in a multipart series of interviews entitled, "Massimo Marone—It's Lonely at the Top." In addition, the massive renovations to his Italian villa-styled mansion were nearly complete. His original intent was to use the mansion as a showplace for entertaining business associates on weekends while he lived in his downtown Los Angeles penthouse during the week. However, everything had changed upon discovering that Ridge was actually his son. Massimo now saw the mansion as an actual family home where he would reside permanently. The main house, along with its guest cottages, private lake, tennis and basketball courts, swimming pool, golf course and private airfield, would also serve as his family's compound. He had long fancied himself as the patriarca of a powerful, dynamic dynasty. What had initially seemed an impossible dream had finally come to fruition. Massimo had insisted that playrooms for his newfound grandchildren be set aside in the mansion and filled with every toy and gadget imaginable. In a huge leap of faith, Massimo had a separate suite of rooms built for the future lady of the manor, the soon-to-be-ex-Mrs. Eric Forrester. Of course, he was under no illusions about Stephanie's willingness to take up permanent residence with him or to be his wife in every sense of the word. Although she had moved in with him a year ago, she had been straddling the fence for months, stubbornly refusing to remove all of her things from the mansion she shared with Eric. When Stephanie and Eric renewed their vows last month, Massimo roared like a wounded bull. For days, his emotions veered from inconsolable desolation to rage. Eric "winning" Stephanie had only increased his determination to destroy him. "After everything that man put you through, you STILL want him. Oh, you are stubborn, my love, but you are no match for me! You are now mine. MINE!" Massimo chuckled in his rich baritone. After yesterday's wedding day fiasco, he had no doubt that Stephanie would soon be at his doorstep. Massimo had finally tired of Stephanie's dillydallying, stalling tactics and refusal to share his bed. After Brooke stormed out of the wedding, he told Stephanie that he would no longer stand by while another man claimed HIS son or the woman he was always destined to be with. He would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Stephanie finally told Eric the truth. There was no way that even a man as weak as that pathetic dressmaker would tolerate Stephanie's deception, Massimo smirked to himself. "Eric!" Massimo spat the name as if he had just tasted something that disagreed with him. "Or should that be, ErWeak?" He laughed aloud.

_______________

Stephanie silently stared at the door that Eric had only moments before slammed so ferociously in her face. She was no longer welcome in HER house? Impossible! Stephanie looked down and stared unseeingly at the keys in her hands—keys that no longer fit the locks on the door. She slowly raised her head and stared at the door again and wiped the sweat from her brow. Eric's spiteful words reverberated in her psyche. Go back to her lover? And, he had actually called her a slut—to her face! Stephanie's pride took a beating in more ways than one. When Raul, the yardman, came outside to do his work, he stopped short as his eyes took in the sight around him. His eyes briefly met Stephanie's, and rather than give her his usual cheerful greeting, he adverted his gaze. This infuriated Stephanie. He couldn't even look me in the face, Stephanie thought. A servant! And, was that pity she saw in the always-loyal Helen's eyes when she briefly peeped out of the bay window? How DARE Eric humiliate her like this in front of the servants—throwing her stuff out of the house as if she were nothing!

A fuming Stephanie had finally reached her boiling point and became enraged at the unfairness of it all. Get the hell of HIS property? "YOUR property?" Stephanie shouted at the door. Evidently, Eric was forgetting a few things, including who's money helped him start the business so he could BUY this property in the first place. "Well, we'll see about that. You can act like you have Alzheimer's if you want, but I'm going to refresh your memory real soon, Eric. You think you can just put me out of my house and I'm just supposed to take it? Well, I don't think so!" A seething Stephanie swore. "You haven't seen the last of me, Eric. Not by a long shot!" She reached down and picked up the Pielle cognac leather travel bag that had been packed for her and placed on the front step. Gathering the few shreds that remained of her dignity about her, Stephanie turned, squared her shoulders and walked toward her parked car at the end of the driveway. She stared ahead resolutely, determined to ignore the personal belongings strewn all over the front lawn.

_______________

[MissJr]

Ridge hurriedly showered, shaved and got dressed. He blindly rushed out of the master bedroom, nearly knocking Catherine down in his haste.

"I'm sorry, Catherine." Ridge said breathlessly.

"Ridge—may I speak to you for a moment?" Catherine asked uneasily.

"I'm in a hurry, Catherine. Can't it wait?" Ridge impatiently asked.

"No, it can't."

"Well, I'm sorry, but it's going to have to." Ridge said, as he stepped around Catherine and practically ran down the hall toward the staircase. "I have something very important to do!"

"More important than your children?" Catherine testily asked. Ridge stopped mid-stride and turned.

"Excuse me?" He asked in consternation.

"Ridge, I'm sorry, but Steffy is in bed sick, and she's been asking for you all morning. And, Phoebe is upset and confused about everything that happened yesterday. I know you have a lot on your mind, but the girls really need their dad right now." Catherine explained, having a difficult time restraining the cross tone that crept into her voice. She was sorry, but she just couldn't help it. Was it too much to ask that Ridge act like a parent just once considering everything those children had been through in the last few months? Catherine frowned.

"Sh*t!" Ridge swore under his breath. Upon seeing Catherine's look of disapproval, he sighed. He had to admit that Catherine had been a real trooper over the last few months. She had worked diligently and went above and beyond the call of duty to help him and the children regain a sense of normalcy after Taylor's murder. He had been so hell bent on getting to Brooke before she checked out of the hotel that he did not even stop to consider the confusion that his children were going through. Catherine was right; his children did need him.

"What about Thomas?" Ridge sheepishly asked.

"I guess you could say that considering the circumstances, he's okay. He's been teasing his sisters unmercifully about being crybabies."

"I see, "Ridge's eyes narrowed. "Well, I'll put a stop to that." He grounded out as he headed toward the children's wing of his Bel Air mansion.

_______________

"See anything you like?" Brooke asked Katie.

"I don't know, Brooke," Katie replied uncertainly as she studied the room service menu. "I mean—these prices—"

"Are you serious?" Brooke laughed. "You're my guest. Remember? We can either order room service, or we can go downstairs to the Dining Room. The food is awesome."

"Won't they charge Ridge's card though?"

"Katie, do I look as if I'm overly concerned about that?" Brooke giggled. Katie broke out into giggles also.

"I know, but that's just that practical Logan side of me. You know mom and Grandma Logan always taught us to pay our own way and to never assume that someone else will pick up the tab."

"Well, you're my guest and I have paid my way. One could say that I've more than paid my way." Brooke said, suddenly becoming serious.

"Are you okay?" A worried Katie asked.

"Not really, but I have a solution to that."

"What's that?"

"It's a solution called 'stress management.' For starters, we can go downstairs to the fitness center to work out, or we can check out the steam room. That's free. Then, we can come back up for showers and have breakfast in the Dining Room. I thought maybe we could extend our stay and stop by the Health Spa for a Swedish massage and body treatments."

"But, will we be able to get appointments at the last minute?"

"As much money as Forrester Creations spends here every year—absolutely. By the way, the hotel offers Afternoon High Tea, which I think you'll love. Since we packed rather lightly, we can go shopping along Rodeo later for some dresses. It seems there's some kind of dress code."

"High Tea? My—aren't we hoity toity!" Katie laughed.

"I know it sounds rather old-fashioned, but it's so much fun. This chef, Lee Smith, is from England, and he does an excellent job—scones with Devonshire cream and fruit preserves, chocolate-dipped strawberries, pastries, and finger sandwiches. So what do you say?"

"Yum! It sounds good to me!" Katie replied enthusiastically. "Remember that old tea set we used to have when we were little girls?"

"How could I forget?" Brooke smiled. "We used to get all dressed up in Mom's dresses, high heels and hats, and pretend that we were proper English ladies."

"Back then, we used to pretend that we were rich, and now ..." Katie sighed in remembrance of the tea parties they had in their small backyard. Impulsively, she walked over and embraced Brooke, squeezing her tightly. Brooke returned the embrace and smiled. "Thank you!" Katie said.

"Why are you thanking me?" Brooke wondered. "If anything, it's I who should be thanking you."

"Brooke, really. This is all so generous of you. When I decided to stay here with you last night, I just didn't want you to be alone. I really wasn't expecting anything like this. Will you at least let me pay for something?"

"Absolutely not." Brooke insisted. "Katie, I love doing things like this for the people I love. Plus, this gives us a chance to really spend some time together before I have to face the real world—and Ridge—again."

"I do have one question though. Breakfast, the spa, High Tea—are they being charged to this room?"

"But, of course!" Brooke laughed.

"And, when Ridge gets the bill? Won't HE have something to say about this little excursion?" Katie asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Why should I care what he thinks when the bill comes?" Brooke shrugged. "After the hell he's put me through, as far as I'm concerned, he's getting off rather cheaply."

_______________

[MontanaLindy]

;D MissJR! I remember reading this when you first started it. Thanks for sharing it here. I hope there is lots more to come!

[MissJr]

The waiter silently continued his work and quickly left the suite, thoroughly convinced that Massimo Marone had more than a few screws loose. However, Massimo hardly noticed the waiter's departure. He gave little thought to people he considered beneath him and who didn't impact his financial bottom line. Walking to a dark paneled wall, Massimo pressed a button concealed beneath a framed cover of Business Week magazine. The mahogany walls slowly opened, telling a story that delved into the darkest recesses of Massimo's mind. Massimo gazed at the elaborate labyrinth of maps, graphs, color-coded lights, and wartime strategic plans that would have impressed even the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. A casual observer would have been impressed with Massimo's tactical and deliberate planning, finding him a brilliant strategist, who left nothing to chance and planned for every contingency. Upon closer inspection, however, the observer would have also been taken aback to discover that this complex, intricate maze of charts, maps and colored lights had nothing whatsoever to do with Massimo's business empire, Marone Industries—an international, Byzantine conglomerate comprised of shipping, oil, and communications entities, as well as the recently acquired Spectra Fashions, which he purchased as a toy for Ridge. At the apex of this complex display of computer-generated wizardry were black and white photographs of Eric and Brooke. The photographs were electronically interposed into the maze and maps, with the words, "AXIS OF EVIL," emblazoned underneath. From there, a brief "biographical sketch" was written for Eric and Brooke each. Under the heading, "high crimes and misdemeanors," a bulleted description was given for each particular offense (including high treason). Additional lines were constructed to resemble the branches of a family tree, leading to smaller pictures of the Rick and Bridget, Eric's other children, Brooke's parents and siblings, as well as friends and acquaintances. There was a special section devoted to the child, who made Brooke the most vulnerable, Hope.

Massimo pressed another button, and the maps seemed to come to life, as various lights shone in colors of brilliant blue, red and yellow highlighting various cities in the United States and Europe, including Los Angeles, Las Vegas, New York, Paris and Portofino. With grim satisfaction, Massimo then removed a chart and reviewed it. The chart contained his strategy in his ongoing "War on Terror" against the two people he held primarily responsible for making the love of his life, Stephanie, miserable. To that end, he had unleashed his own "weapons of mass destruction" against Eric and Brooke to bring them down. First, he had to sow discord in Eric's family using his children. He had appealed to young Rick's wounded pride, ego and eagerness to learn about business to separate Ridge from Forrester Creations. "Mission accomplished!" Massimo muttered, recalling the triumphant moment when he, Ridge and Stephanie exited Forrester Creations together.

He then had to devise creative ways to get rid of Brooke once and for all, an ambitious task that had so far eluded him. "All because the idiots I hired can't seem to get the job done. Incompetents! I'm just surrounded by incompetents!" Massimo growled angrily. Using her father's weakness and greed against her had worked like a charm. Oh, Stephen Logan made quite a show of wanting to protect his daughter. But, when it came time to put his money where his mouth was, Stephen opted for the money. Massimo's implied threats to harm Brooke and Stephen both hadn't hurt either. But that stupid idiot he hired to distract and get rid of Brooke in Paris had failed him miserably, Massimo thought furiously. He then found another opportunity when Taylor died. He had hired Tricia Quick, an operative who bore a striking resemblance to Taylor, to cut Brooke off at the pass. He was actually surprised that the Forresters had not even bothered to run a background check on Tricia, accepting at face value her claim that she was "an old friend" of Taylor's. He had briefed Tricia well regarding Brooke and Ridge's history and she was supposed to use it to her advantage. Unfortunately, she, too, had failed him miserably. The next opportunity presented itself in Portofino. This time he stealthily attacked Brooke on two fronts. First he used the shameful secret of Hope's paternity. He tracked down "that walking ashtray with a p*nis," Deacon Sharpe, in New York and gave him instructions, money and a ticket to Portofino. Unluckily, Deacon was only partially effective. Although his attempts to terrorize and harass Brooke had backfired, Deacon scored a direct hit when he revealed to Ridge that he, himself, was actually Hope's father. The explosion that followed had been more than worth it, as Ridge finally had his eyes opened.

Massimo had launched the second part of his two-prong attack on Brooke by using Bridget's deep-seated anger toward her mother. Of course, the little fool was shocked when he revealed that he, and not Eric, was actually Ridge's father. But, Massimo saw something else in Bridget that had escaped the notice of those closest to her. Despite her words of forgiveness, Bridget's justified rage at her mother's betrayal barely lurked beneath the surface. Massimo had also detected an air of stiff-necked arrogance and moral superiority that the girl had not bothered to keep in check. Like a serpent, Massimo skillfully worked on Bridget, painting himself sympathetic to her plight while effectively severing any loyalty she may have still had to either of her parents. With his carefully chosen words, he had not only convinced Bridget that she was more of a woman than her mother could ever be, but he had also convinced her that she would be the perfect woman for Ridge. Bridget was shocked and horrified at what Massimo suggested. For every objection that Bridget had—including the fact that Ridge was her brother—Massimo had a pat, ready response. He had also cleverly made sure that no mention was made of the fact that Ridge also believed he was her father for the first six years of her life. A master manipulator, Massimo could see in the girl's eyes that he had struck a chord despite her indignant denials. Unbeknownst to either of her parents, Massimo had not only planted the seed of Bridget's destruction, he had warped her reasoning and sense of rightness with his constant exhortations and encouragement that not only appealed to her vanity, but also fostered in her an over-inflated sense of self-importance and entitlement. He had kept up his campaign for weeks on end, appearing at opportune moments and ingratiating himself into Bridget's life more and more. He had also repeatedly emphasized how Bridget had been "victimized" by her parents, ensuring that she ultimately shut them out of her life, while increasingly turning to him for guidance. By now, he had her thoroughly convinced that she would be not only the perfect woman for Ridge, but the perfect mother for his children. "What a little fool! As if she could ever compete with Taylor." Massimo said contemptuously. Although, he genuinely liked the girl, he could ill afford to allow what little conscience he did possess to dissuade him from his ultimate mission. As far as he was concerned, Bridget was merely a casualty in the bigger "War on Terror."

Pressing several buttons and inputting data, Massimo updated his charts and graphs, tallying his latest victories—Brooke's defection of Ridge at the altar, Eric finally finding out that Ridge was not his son, and Stephanie taking up permanent residence with him. "It took a year, my love, but that's nothing compared to the YEARS of heartache you had to go through at the hands of those two."

Massimo pressed a button, and the lights on the graphs, maze and maps dimmed. The mahogany walls slowly came together, once again concealing an all-consuming obsession that would have astonished most people. Massimo poured himself another glass of champagne and walked to the window of his suite. He looked out the window and surveyed the panoramic view of downtown Los Angeles. Massimo then raised his glass in a silent salute to himself. Although his ultimate victory was more than assured, as far as he was concerned, terror threats had no deadlines. He would not rest until his and Stephanie's enemies were defeated and brought to their knees.

"I will CRUSSSHHH you, Eric and Brooke! I will crush you BOTH!" Massimo passionately vowed.

_______________

[MissJr]

"Jonathan Young, please." Stephanie crisply demanded as she navigated her car through the pedestrian traffic.

"May I tell Mr. Young who's calling?" The receptionist asked. Stephanie frowned in irritation. Jonathan needed to get on the ball and hire more competent employees. He was going to get an earful from her about this. She was sick of this twit, who should have recognized her voice by now.

"Stephanie Forrester." She coldly replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. Forrester," the receptionist apologized nervously. "Mr. Young is in the middle of a conference call for the next half hour. May I take a message?"

"No, you may not!" A frustrated Stephanie snapped. "I'll call him back at MY convenience." She said, immediately pressing a button and terminating the call.

She could swear that there were times when Jonathan was just useless. "But, that's okay." She muttered. Her first course of business was to get somewhere and take a shower and get out of these clothes. Stephanie glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and grimaced. "Old girl, you look like hell. Feel like it, too," she commented as her joints started to ache from stiffness. After she got herself together, she would be ready to get down to business.

She and Jonathan had to come up with a strategy to get her back into that house. If she had to get him to file some papers in court to force Eric to let her back in, then they would do it. A determined Stephanie thought. Given the pull she and Jonathan had with a couple of the judges, she had little doubt that she would be back in her house before the end of the day. "You're NOT getting away with this, Eric. No way in hell!"

_______________

A shocked Bridget threw down the telephone receiver as if it were a snake that had bitten her hand. "LIAR!" She screamed. C.J. was a jerk! A bastard—a creep! She thought angrily. He was just jealous because Ridge was real man, and he wasn't. "LIAR!" Bridget screamed again, hurling the telephone to the floor. "A joke? You said Ridge and I deserved a chance, and now it's a joke?"

Bridget paced frantically around the living room holding her stomach as if she had been kicked in it. "LIARRRRRR!" She shrieked again, as tears of rage coursed down her face. Still holding her stomach, she sank to her knees and sobbed. How she hated C.J. now! A joke? When she and Ridge were finally together, well the joke would be on him. Screw CJ! Screw Stephanie! Screw her mother—or anybody else who dared to stand in her way.

Bridget's wounded vanity and pride would not allow her to even consider that she might have been wrong. Everyone had told her how beautiful, pure, perfect and decent she was. Now, they all pretended they hadn't meant it. They were all trying to make it seem as if something was wrong with her. Now, her "fecal roster" of enemies had just increased by one. However, as much as she hated CJ, no one deserved her rancor more than her mother. "Must she have ALL of the men?" Bridget sneered. "She took Deacon from me, and I'll be damned if she gets Ridge again! All I have to do is mention Hope, and Ridge will NEVER want her again!"

Bridget's imagination went into overdrive as she thought of ways that she could get Ridge's attention. Stephanie sent her home the day before, but who the hell was she? She frowned mutinously. "The last time I checked, that was Ridge's house—not hers—and he told me that I would always be welcomed there." Bridget wiped her eyes and her sobs subsided. She was a grown woman and she was allowing Stephanie to call the shots? Stephanie?! "No way are you calling the shots! You are NOT my mother and I don't answer to you. Screw you, Stephanie!" She shouted. If that treacherous bitch dared to stand in her way, she knew one person who could put her in her place. Bridget thought grimly.

Stephanie might have turned on her, but at least she had Massimo.

_______________

[MissJr]

"Hey, Pumpkin," Ridge said, as he sat on the side of Steffy's bed. "I heard somebody has a little tummy ache." Ridge said, as he softly patted Steffy's stomach. As if on cue, Steffy groaned dramatically.

"OWWWWW! Huurrrrts!" She whined.

"Oh, please!" Thomas commented, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "It's not that bad. She's nothing but a big crybaby." He scoffed.

"Am NOT!" Steffy screamed.

"She's NOT!" Phoebe screeched.

"Yes you are! BOTH of you are! Crybaby, crybaby!"

"Daddeeeee!" Steffy moaned. "Make him stop!"

"Baby talk! Baby talk! It's a wonder you can walk!" Thomas repeatedly taunted the girls. He cruelly yanked Phoebe's hair, causing the girl to squeal.

"OWWW! Stop it!" She screamed.

"Leave her alone—Thom-ASS!" Steffy angrily yelled, momentarily forgetting her aching stomach and sitting up in bed. She would beat up anyone who messed with her twin sister, even Thomas.

"ENOUGH!" Ridge roared in exasperation. His headache had returned full force, and was so agonizing that he momentarily shut his eyes. The room suddenly grew silent, as the children came to the realization that Steffy had said a "bad word," and their father had actually yelled at them—a rare occurrence, as voices were seldom raised in their house. Thomas glowered at Steffy and made a fist. He then took his fist and directed it, first to his left eye and then his right. Thomas then pressed his fist against his mouth.

"Daddeeee, he's at it again!" Steffy complained.

"Tattletale." Thomas grumbled.

"Thomas, I said that's enough." Ridge said firmly. "Go over there and sit down and stay there. You know you are way too big to be acting the way you are, and I want it to stop—NOW." Ridge ordered.

Thomas pouted but did as he was told. The twins exchanged triumphant looks and by that special telepathy they possessed, exchanged mental high fives. They then glanced at Thomas and gloated. Thomas was very seldom punished for anything, and this was a real treat for both of them.

Ridge turned his attention to Steffy. "Now, Steffy, you know we don't use bad words when we talk to one another, now do we?"

"Nooooo." Steffy sighed dramatically.

"Come here, baby," Ridge said to Phoebe. She quietly walked to Steffy's bed and sat on the edge of it next to Ridge. "Are you okay?" He asked as he hugged her.

"I'm okay, Daddy." Phoebe piped up, eager to smooth things over.

"No, she's not." Steffy insisted. "Thomas hurt her and you should let him have it. Give it to him good!"

"I don't think we need to do that, Steffy," Ridge laughed. When Taylor named the girls, she could not have chosen better names for them, he thought. The girls could not have been anymore different. Phoebe was quiet, even-tempered, introspective and eager to please. Steffy, however, was dynamic, outgoing, high-spirited and mercurial. "Once Thomas apologizes to both of you, I'm sure that 'giving it to him good' won't be necessary." Ridge said with a twinkle in his eye. He then looked at Thomas sternly, who pouted even more. "If you keep poking your lip out like that, one of these days, it's going to stay that way. Well, Thomas ... I'm waiting," Ridge said pointedly.

"Sorry." Thomas mumbled.

"He's not really sorry. Make him say it louder!" Steffy maliciously demanded.

"Come on, Stef—lighten up. Besides, I thought your tummy was sore. Keep this up, and you're going to make yourself even sicker than you already are." Ridge warned her.

As if she suddenly remembered how sick she was supposed to be, Steffy grabbed her stomach and began to moan again. "It hurrrrrttts!"

"I know, honey," Ridge said soothingly. "Did you have too much ice cream yesterday?"

"No. It was all the wedding stuff." Steffy complained.

"Ohhhhh! I see." Ridge smiled ruefully.

"Daddy, what happened to your eye? Did you get in a fight yesterday?" Phoebe asked, as she gingerly touched Ridge's black eye. He winced—more from embarrassment than any pain he might have felt.

"I, uh—I had a bit of an accident." He replied.

"Daddy, doesn't Bwooke like us anymore? I thought she wuvved us." Phoebe whimpered, as her lower lip quivered and her eyes began to fill with tears.

"It's BROOKE—not 'Bwooke,'" Thomas meanly corrected her.

"We don't care!" Steffy said stridently as she, too, began to cry. "We want Bwooke to come back. Don't we Phoebe?"

"I want Bwooke to come back!" Phoebe nodded her head in agreement. "Bwing her baaackkk!" She sobbed.

Ridge moaned and placed his hands on his temples and rubbed them. "We all want her to come back," Ridge said. He futilely attempted to comfort the girls, who had by now become almost hysterical with their crying.

"Speak for yourself," a spiteful Thomas mumbled well out of earshot.

"We asked her to be our mom, and she said yes!" Phoebe reminded Ridge between hiccups.

"I know, baby, and Brooke wanted that more than anything in the world." Ridge reassured her.

"Then why did she runned awaaaaayyyy?" Steffy cried.

"Well, it's complicated," Ridge said. Unfortunately, his answer was not an answer the twins could accept or one they particularly understood. They sobbed and wept even louder. Ridge, who felt he had been pressed beyond endurance, was by now truly at a loss. Thanks a lot, Logan. He thought angrily. The least she could have done was come back to help him explain this mess to the kids. Now, what was he supposed to do?

_______________

Nick lit a cigar and reclined in an easy chair in his mother's living room and pondered her revelations. The news that Brooke Logan had not married "the dressmaker" frankly surprised him. She seemed so in love with the guy and excited about the wedding. Based on what he, himself, already saw of Ridge, he knew that the lady could do a whole lot better. "Maybe she figured it out just in time." Nick mused. However, he doubted it. Forrester had her nose so wide open, you could drive a truck through it, Nick thought. Something very drastic must have happened to cause her to change her mind. According to his mother, she did more than just change her mind; she actually left Forrester at the altar. "But why?" He wondered aloud.

Nick recalled his encounter with Massimo two days before, and his memory of the encounter only raised more questions in his mind. Why did Massimo Marone, of all people, give a damn about whom Ridge married? Why was Marone so certain that there wouldn't even BE a wedding? And, why was he pressing him to go after Brooke himself? It was one thing for his mother to do it; he certainly knew what her agenda was and understood it. Yet, here was Marone talking about how alluring Brooke was, while implying that she wasn't good enough for Forrester. Nick puffed his cigar and slowly exhaled it.

Those weren't the only questions he had. For starters, he remained curious as to why Massimo would place Ridge as second in command of his shipping fleet. From what he saw, Ridge knew nothing about shipping, nor did he have a love for the sea that he and Massimo had. Yet, "Gilligan" has all this responsibility thrust on him and is strutting around Marone Industries like a pompous peacock, Nick contemptuously thought. Although, Nick was impressed with Massimo's offer to work at his corporate headquarters commanding the Pacific Fleet, he still bristled at the thought of taking orders from a "dressmaker."

Nick then reminisced about his trip to Marone Industries the day before and remembered his encounter with Deacon Sharpe. Nick frowned, as several things about the encounter disturbed him. Exactly WHO was this Deacon Sharpe, and how did a slick operator like him become so cozy with Brooke Logan's family? Nick thought Deacon's scathing comments about Brooke's wedding were rather amusing. Although, the comments were made in jest, Nick sensed that Deacon had more than a passing interest in the wedding he referred to as a "train wreck." Nick was also intrigued about Deacon's curiosity about him and how he came to know so much about Brooke. "He seemed suspicious ... jealous even." Nick mumbled, as he flicked the ashes of his cigar in a coral seashell-shaped dish that appeared to be an ashtray. He also wondered about Deacon's self-deprecating comment that he never really had a chance with Brooke. "But that makes no sense." Nick squinted. Although he knew virtually nothing about Deacon, he did not believe that he was the type of man that Brooke would be attracted to. Although he shared Deacon's disdain for Ridge, Nick could not help but wonder if Deacon's remarks were a little self-serving. Maybe, this Deacon and Forrester competed with one another for the lady, Nick speculated. No doubt Forrester pulled out all the stops to get the lady's hand. "And, of course, Forrester won. No wonder Sharpe didn't think he ever had a chance." Nick chuckled. Yet, his gut instincts told him that Deacon was motivated by something other than unrequited love. There was something dangerous about the man, and he saw the avaricious hunger that Deacon could not hide even if he wanted to.

However, one mystery remained. Why was Deacon Sharpe at Marone Industries yesterday, and what kind of business did he have with Massimo Marone?

_______________

[MissJr]

Dear Mr. Young:

Please be advised that as of this morning, this firm has been retained by Eric Forrester, Sr. to represent his personal interests, as well as the interests of Forrester Creations and its subsidiaries, including Forrester International. Accordingly, we request copies of all of Mr. Forrester and Forrester Creations' files, including all corporate documents filed with any governmental and/or regulatory agencies. It is also our understanding that you have copies of a post-marital agreement that Eric and Stephanie Forrester executed upon the renewal of their wedding vows last month. As you are aware, this agreement governs the distribution of Forrester Creations stock in the event of a breach of one of the provisions of the agreement. Said breach includes, but is not limited to, the dissolution of the parties' marriage due to the fault of one or both of the parties. We also ask that you provide copies of any non-privileged attorney notes.

Please also provide the originals of all documentation pertaining to the illegal takeover attempt of Forrester Creations by Ridge Forrester in the form in which you received them. We would also appreciate receiving all legal research you and your staff performed in this particular endeavor. It is our position that your participation in such an endeavor, which was ultimately unsuccessful, represents a serious ethical breach and conflict of interest given your ongoing representation of the Forresters' separate interests, as well as the interests of Forrester Creations. To that end, we have enclosed a substitution order, which we ask that you sign and return to us immediately.

Please contact me upon receipt of this letter so that we can make arrangements to have your files transmitted to us. We look forward to working with you on a smooth transition.

Thank you in advance for your anticipated courtesy and cooperation.

Respectfully,

Sherman Douglas

Jonathan stared at the letter, which had been couriered to him, in wide-eyed disbelief. Turn over his files? There had to have been some kind of mistake, he thought. He and Eric had a friendship that spanned nearly 30 years. If Eric really had a problem with him, surely he could have contacted him himself instead of going through some kind of intermediary. He had devoted nearly his entire professional career to Forrester Creations as its general counsel. And, now, without warning, he was being shut out! Jonathan reread Sherman Douglas' letter and fumed at what he perceived as its judgmental tone. He had to speak to Eric himself to find out what the hell was going on. Jonathan angrily pressed the intercom button on his telephone several times.

"Yes, Meester Young?" His assistant responded to the short, insistent beeps of the intercom.

"Svetlana, how long ago did this letter arrive?" Jonathan snapped.

"Five meenutes ago, sir."

"I don't believe this. I just don't believe it!" Jonathan mumbled as he reread the letter yet again, as if repeatedly reading it would change its contents or meaning.

"Excuse me, but ees there anytheeng else?" Svetlana asked in her heavy Russian accent.

"Get me Eric Forrester on the phone—right NOW!" Jonathan barked angrily.

_______________

"How are you doing over there?" Brooke asked as she peered at her sister, as they sat in the sauna with large, fluffy towels wrapped around their sweating bodies.

"Great! You know, this was such a good idea."" Katie replied.

"Um hmm." Brooke sighed as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

"You know, everything is starting to make perfect sense now." Katie mused. Brooke opened her eyes and smiled.

"About what?"

"Well—Massimo Marone. Storm and I were both curious as to why Ridge's boss would host your engagement party at his penthouse. Nor, did it make a lot of sense that you would go along with it after everything he did to you, Mom and Dad."

Brooke frowned. "Well, because the bastard is actually Ridge's father, for the sake of family 'unity'—what a joke—I thought I would at least try to get along with Massimo. You think I would have learned after dealing with Stephanie all these years." Brooke said regretfully.

"Um hmm ... and the whole time, he was playing you and setting you up for a fall."

"He played ALL of us!" Brooke said angrily. "I should have seen it, but I was so blind—"

"Don't beat up on yourself about that. Heck, even I was impressed with his 'generosity,' and my bullsh*t detector usually goes into overdrive, and I can detect it coming from a mile away. I can't believe I actually thanked that a**hole!" Katie spat with disgust.

"I'm still trying to figure out what Stephanie could have possibly saw in him." Brooke shook her head.

"Stephanie? And Massimo? EWWWWWW!" Katie laughed as she grabbed her throat and pretended to gag.

"Now, now, Katie!" Brooke giggled. "Stephanie still has it going on."

"She does," Katie nodded her head in agreement. "And she dresses beautifully."

"Besides, I'm sure Massimo was a different man then. After all, he was somebody's baby once!" Brooke laughed.

"Baby? More like a demon seed!" Katie chuckled. "I thought Stephanie was bad, but this guy is just plain evil. And, speaking of Stephanie, I can't believe you would keep her secret after everything she's done to you."

"Foolish me again." Brooke shrugged.

"Ridge?"

"Yeah," Brooke replied softly. "I did it out of love and respect for him, but never again!" She replied with conviction. "As for Stephanie, I've already put that bitch on notice that I will no longer listen to a word she says. All these years, she's called me every filthy name imaginable. Meanwhile, here she is acting like some paragon of virtue. You should have seen her face when I threatened to have Megan call Jerry Springer and expose her for what she is!" Brooke laughed.

"Almost peed in her fancy drawers, didn't she?" Katie snickered. "Ooooohhh! You should have done it! By the way, do you honestly believe that she didn't know the truth about Ridge's paternity all these years?" A skeptical Katie asked.

"You know, she lies so much and so well, I don't know what to believe. The question is whether or not Eric will believe it."

_______________

[Miette]

BRAVO, MISSJR!!! Keep it up!!!

[MissJr]

miette said:

BRAVO, MISSJR!!! Keep it up!!!

Thanks, Miette!

[MissJr]

"May I help you?" Eric asked coldly.

"May you help me?" Jonathan asked indignantly. "Eric, what's going on? This letter I received from Sherman Douglas—"

"What about it?" Eric impatiently interrupted Jonathan.

"Eric, I'm really trying not to get upset, but you owe ME an explanation. Would you mind telling me what this is all about?"

"First of all, let's get one thing clear from the outset. I owe you NOTHING. Second, unless you have problems with reading comprehension or some kind of comprehension retention deficiency, Mr. Douglas' letter is self-explanatory." Eric angrily responded.

Jonathan closed his eyes and silently counted to ten before responding. "Eric, I didn't call you to argue. I honestly don't understand what's going on. This man wants me to turn over my files—ALL of them. Now, before I do that, I think we should talk about this. Obviously, you're not happy about something. Is there anything I did to offend you?"

"Is there anything you did to offend me?" Eric sneered. "Jonathan, I selected Mr. Douglas because I value loyalty."

"But, I have always been loyal to you, Eric!" Jonathan argued. "I've always put your interests, as well as the interests of Forrester Creations first."

"You were loyal to me? If the latest example of your 'loyalty' was trying to help Ridge take my company from me, then—"

"Latest example? But, that was a year ago! I did what Ridge wanted because in the long run, it was in the best interests of Forrester Creations. Your family has never been happy with Brooke being in control, and an opportunity presented itself when she made Ridge temporary CEO when she took a leave of absence."

"An opportunity? An opportunity for whom?" Eric demanded with disgust.

"For the Forresters, of course."

"Jonathan, in case you didn't notice, Ridge wanted control of Forrester Creations for himself—NOT for the family. And, then you engaged in this illegal scheme to have Brooke declared mentally incapacitated. That's how I lost control of my company in the first damn place—listening to Stephanie and going along with her underhanded schemes."

"But, Brooke WAS mentally incapacitated!" Jonathan insisted.

"Because she took a sabbatical at a damn spa? Jonathan, did you actually READ the terms of Brooke's contract when she took control of the company? Do you even know what is legally required to have someone declared so mentally incapacitated that they can't perform their duties? I suppose Ridge's amnesia about the fact that he designed the lingerie line has no bearing on HIS mental capacity to run a company, does it? The only people who seem to be mentally incapacitated are Ridge and the people who encouraged him, including you. We were lucky that when Brooke hired Connor to represent her this last time, that she didn't sue us! He definitely seemed to have all HIS ducks in a row. At least, there's ONE lawyer who looks and acts as if he's awake and fully alert." Eric snarled nastily.

"Eric, there's no need to be insulting." An offended Jonathan retorted. He became increasingly more anxious and frustrated, as the discussion was not going the way he had hoped. He drummed his fingers on his desk as Eric continued to berate him.

"Here I was trying to create a legacy for ALL of my children and to unite my family, but neither Ridge nor his mother would have it. Then, when he couldn't get his way, he and his mother made their choice. They went with Massimo. Well, he can have both of them as far as I'm concerned."

"Huh? WHAT?" Jonathan all but shrieked. "I don't understand! What does Massimo Marone have to do with—"

"It has to do with loyalty, Jonathan. I can no longer afford to surround myself with people who call me husband, father or FRIEND to my face while working against me."

"But, you've always been my friend, and—"

"Right now, I'm cleaning house of family, friends or anyone else who doesn't have my family's interests at heart. You showed me last year exactly where your loyalties lay."

"Eric, I know that Ridge's power play hurt you, but he told me that he intended to surprise you by turning control of the company back over to you."

"Oh, that's what he told you, huh? Well, I can assure you that Ridge's actions and those of his mother and wife spoke louder than any words ever could. And, you know what they say about the road to hell being paved with good intentions. The temporary power Ridge was given went to his head, and he wanted it all, and his mother and wife wanted it all for him. Why do you think Ridge appointed Taylor to the board of directors? None of them gave a damn if my other children were cheated. It was all about Ridge—even when Stephanie knew the truth. Well, all the lies and deceptions end today." Eric firmly stated.

"The truth? Wh—wh—what truth?" Jonathan stammered.

"You'll have to ask your client and friend, Stephanie, about that. Good luck on getting an honest answer." Eric replied sarcastically.

"Eric, I can understand that you were offended by what happened last year," Jonathan stated in a futile attempt to smooth things over. "But, why does Sherman Douglas need to see the agreement you and Stephanie signed last month? I can understand your wanting someone else to represent Forrester Creations' interests, but it seems to me that I should be the one to still handle your and Stephanie's personal affairs."

"Not anymore, you're not." Eric replied matter-of-factly.

"And, what does Stephanie have to say about this decision of yours?" Jonathan demanded, trying another tact. At this point, he was desperate. He knew that Stephanie would strongly object to Eric's decision and would get him to change his mind.

"I don't care what she thinks or has to say about anything. Mr. Douglas has conveyed my wishes to you, and I am confirming them verbally. You already have enough ethical issues as it is. Don't add the refusal to turn over my files to them."

"I really don't understand this." Jonathan mumbled, trying one more time to make sense out of a situation that to him was incomprehensible.

"You don't? What if I simplify matters for you then?"" Eric asked tersely. "Jonathan, you're fired!"

_______________

[newestconvert]

excellent story MissJr! Love the writing... you sure know how to set the scene... more girl! Pretty please!

[MissJr]

newestconvert said:

excellent story MissJr! Love the writing... you sure know how to set the scene... more girl! Pretty please!

Thank you! I will post another installment later this morning. BTW--I am SO loving your story!

[MissJr]

SPPPPRRRRRSSST! SPPPPRRRRRSSST!

Jackie furiously sprayed a gardenia-scented air freshener in the living room where Nick sat puffing his cigar. Nick coughed, nearly choking as the heavily perfumed fumes engulfed the area around him.

"Hey!" He coughed, waving the air around him.

"I do wish you would rid yourself of that detestable habit," a displeased Jackie snapped in her clipped British accent.

"Oh, sorry." Nick said, as he quickly extinguished the cigar in the shell-shaped dish on the coffee table.

"And, that is NOT an ashtray!" An outraged Jackie said, glaring at the offensive smoldering ashes in the shell-shaped dish and wrinkling her nose.

"It's not?" Nick asked with genuine surprise.

"No—it's not. It's a memento inadvertently left behind by the owners. It was my intent to have it delivered to Ridge Forrester. Given his wife's untimely and unfortunate demise, I thought he would like to have it. Now, it's ruined. I've asked you numerous times NOT to smoke in the house, Nicky! You know, I don't require or ask for a lot, but—"

"Alright! Alright!" Nick held up his hands to ward off anymore of Jackie's scolding. "I'm sorry you're upset, but I do have some good news."

"Please don't tell me that you've just saved an extra shilling or two on your auto insurance by switching to GEICO?" Jackie winked, her good humor restored.

"Funny!" Nick laughed. "Actually, I decided to accept Marone's offer."

"Oh, Nicky!" Jackie clapped her hands excitedly. "I am SO happy for you!" She said, as she embraced her son. "You had so many reservations about this job. What made you change your mind?"

"Let's just say that I enjoy a good mystery." Nick smiled.

"A good mystery?" A puzzled Jackie asked.

"Um hmm. I'm even willing to work under Forrester's supervision."

"And there's nothing wrong with that." Jackie quickly added. "Although, it is rather odd that Massimo gave him that job."

"Odd? How about ludicrous?" Nick commented. "But, as long as I have the autonomy that Marone promised me, I can deal with Forrester."

"You know this means that you'll be working at a desk in an office. And, of course, that means a new wardrobe and—"

"WHOA! Slow down." Nick laughed. "I can already see those wheels turning in your head."

"What wheels?" Jackie asked innocently. "Everyone knows that clothes make the man, and many a lady—"

"Let's not start that again." Nick moaned. "I have my own reasons for taking the job with Marone Industries, Mom."

"Of course, you do. But, may I make a slight suggestion?"

"What's that?" Nick squinted at her, bracing himself.

"Well, as the West Coast buyer for Fenmore Department Stores, I've cultivated relationships with several couturiers. In fact, I have a meeting with Eric Forrester next week. Perhaps he can refer you to someone, or even design a few proper suits and jackets for you himself."

"Doesn't he design clothing for women?"

"He does, but I understand Brooke Logan had a men's wear line a few years ago. Perhaps, you could ask her for some suggestions. I'm sure she would be happy to—" Jackie said softly.

"I should have known." Nick grimaced.

"Should have known what?"

"Mom!"" Nick barked in warning. "I really don't need you to play matchmaker for me."

"Matchmaker? Oh, do pay attention, Nicky. I was talking about outfitting you with a proper wardrobe." Jackie frowned. "After all, I imagine that the executives of Marone Industries dress the part—including Ridge Forrester."

"So you want me to run around dressed like some fop just to fit in."

"Darling, I would hardly call Mr. Forrester or any man with his great responsibilities a fop. He merely dresses for the environment he is in, and it is only fitting that you do the same. Now, about Brooke ... " Jackie continued, as she picked up the seashell-shaped dish and carried it to the kitchen.

Nick looked at his mother and shook his head as she chattered on. She was nothing if not persistent, he thought with amusement.

_______________

"I need to call Eric anyway." Brooke sighed. "Whether Stephanie tells him the truth or not is of little concern to me. What I am worried about is Bridget."

"HER?! Humph!" Katie frowned.

"Come on, Katie. Don't start that. I know now that Massimo twisted her mind when she was most vulnerable."

"Well, I'm sorry, and I know she's your daughter, but Little Miss Prissy Pants should have been dealt with a long time ago." Katie replied, feeling little sympathy for her niece.

"What do you mean by that?" Brooke asked, immediately becoming defensive.

"What I mean is that both those children of yours are spoiled rotten—ungrateful, spoiled and disloyal! And, I know one thing if Bridget had raised her hand to ME when she was 13, she would STILL be looking for all 32 of her teeth on every continent! Let's face it. From what I saw yesterday, she's haughty, self-important and conceited. And, she's really been in her element playing the little victim."

"Well, I don't really know where she got those traits from." Brooke said pensively. "They're all qualities that I absolutely despised in Tay—in certain people." Brooke hastily amended.

"I didn't even recognize that manipulative person I saw yesterday. I saw very little of the wonderful, well-rounded young woman you and others told me so much about."

"That's just it, Katie. Bridget has matured into a wonderful, well-rounded young woman with a really good head on her shoulders. I took that from her, and I'll never forgive myself for that. She is so caring and when needed, she rises to the occasion with no thought whatsoever of herself. You know when Captain Payne told me about the volunteer work she did in Mexico, I couldn't help but be proud of her."

"Captain Payne?" Katie asked, giving the trademark Logan squint. "Who's that?"

"Oh, yes," Brooke sighed wistfully. "I never got a chance to tell you about Nick—um—Captain Payne and how I met him, did I?" She smiled impishly.

_______________

[MissJr]

"So, tell me, baby. Is 'The Great One' in his office today?" Deacon demanded, fixing Massimo's receptionist with his intense stare. She was a comely little piece, he thought. Any other time, he would have put the moves on her and given her an opportunity to get herself a little taste, but right now he had more urgent matters to deal with.

"Y—y—yes." The young woman gulped. Although something about this man frightened her, she found herself positively turned on in a weird sort of way.

"Good. Tell him 'the man in black' is here to see him. He'll know exactly who you're talking about."

"Oh? Was he expecting you?" The receptionist asked apprehensively.

"Do I look like a mind reader to you? Like, how would I know? Just tell him I'm here," Deacon sarcastically commented as he lit up a cigarette. He then leisurely dragged on it and blew the smoke in the young woman's direction.

"Sir, this is a non-smoking office! Please put that out." The young woman admonished Deacon in what she hoped was an authoritative tone.

However, Deacon merely looked at her and smirked. "Yeah? I didn't even notice." He replied with a sardonic grin, making no move to put his cigarette out. "Listen, baby, screw the fire code violations. Just tell fat boy—your boss—that I'm here." Deacon ordered. "And, tell him not to even think about making me wait on line 'cuz I got all day, and I'm not leaving until I see his bitch ass."

"But—"

"You know what? Don't even bother announcing me. Why don't I just pop in and surprise him?" Deacon suggested with a demonic wink.

_______________

[MissJr]

Ridge exhaled deeply, grateful to finally have some semblance of peace and quiet. He had finally managed to calm the twins down and repeatedly reassured them that Brooke still loved them and that she still wanted to be their mother. In addition to having Brooke live with them, the girls were so excited about the prospect of having Hope as their new baby sister. Brooke had even showed them how to properly hold the baby so that the twins would not drop her. Apprehensive at first, the girls finally got the hang of it and took turns holding and playing with Hope, imagining the day when they, too, would have babies of their own. Under Catherine's supervision, Steffy and Phoebe spent considerable time decorating Hope's new nursery. This was one of several surprises they had planned for Brooke and Hope. Now, the surprise, like the wedding, had been ruined.

Ridge's mind began to drift as he thought about the homecoming that he had planned for his bride when they returned from their honeymoon. He had already contacted a storage company to have the marriage bed he shared with Taylor removed from the master bedroom. Under the circumstances, he hardly thought it was fitting to share the same bed with Brooke. During a shopping trip at a furniture store recently, Brooke had openly admired the exquisite workmanship of a beautiful cherry wood four-poster California king-sized bed. As a surprise, Ridge had arranged to have the bed delivered and set up while he and Brooke honeymooned. He had also purchased a matching bed chest for Brooke to store a handmade wedding quilt that was given to by her Grandma Logan. Ridge's mind inevitably drifted to the image of his bride snuggled beneath the fluffiest of down comforters as he slowly peeled the covers away to be greeted by her willing and waiting body. Damn it, Logan. He thought. This is where she belonged—here with him. As God was his witness, he was going to get her back, he silently vowed. Ridge's reverie was interrupted by a constant tugging on his sleeve.

"Daddy!" Phoebe shouted. A startled Ridge briefly stared at the child as if he had never seen her before.

"What is it, Lamb?" He gently asked.

"Look what we made for Bwooke," Phoebe said as she handed Ridge a multi-colored banner. Ridge took the banner from her and smiled. The words, "WELCOME HOME BROOKE AND HOPE" were spelled out in large, uneven letters with smiley faces. The borders of the banner were stenciled in with summer flowers.

"It's beautiful." Ridge said.

"I helped, toooooo!" Steffy asserted.

"I know you did, Pumpkin, and you and Phoebe both did a fantastic job. Brooke would have loved this."

"We can still give it to her, can't we?" Phoebe asked.

"Please Daddeeeee?" Steffy begged.

"Honey—" Ridge started.

"Please?" Phoebe whined, nearly on the verge of tears again. "Can't you bwing Bwooke back home?"

"Honey—" Ridge began, and then stopped abruptly. He looked down at the banner in his hands and back up at the girls again. "Yes." Ridge barely croaked. "I'll bring her back."

"You pwomise?" Steffy asked, gazing at him with puppy dog eyes.

Ridge hesitated before responding. He had already vowed that he would bring Brooke home where she belonged. It was one thing to promise himself that, but it was another thing to make such a promise to the twins. What if he couldn't deliver? He wondered. He hated to disappoint the girls, and he had never broken a promise to them before. However, Ridge's self-confidence and determination replaced any doubts he had. He and Brooke would get through this, he told himself. They had history on their side and had always gotten through their trials before. This time would be no different.

The twins watched Ridge expectantly. In that instant, he made a snap decision. "I promise. I will bring Brooke back and we WILL be a family." Ridge declared, silently praying that he would not live to regret his words.

_______________