Summary: Sheridan and Luis have a date. But does all go as planned? Of
course
not!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters on Passions. If they were mine,
Luis
and Sheridan would already be married. However, they do not belong to
me,
they belong to NBC and the creators of the show. I am merely using them
for
my own enjoyment. So please, don't sue me.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Lopez-Fitzgerald House
4 pm
"Oh. My. God."
Theresa bit her lip and looked from her brother's horrified face to the
mirror he was gazing into.
"It's not that bad," she said brightly, hoping to sound convincing.
"Oh. My. God."
"It'll grow back eventually."
"Oh. My. God."
Theresa crossed her arms, "Would you stop saying that? I'm sorry, all
right?"
Luis, not quite believing what he was seeing, hesitantly brought one
hand up
to the top of his head, feeling around for his hair. Then he braved
another
glance in the mirror. His formerly long-ish, spiky hair was cropped
close to
his head, still long in some spots, and in other areas resembling a
military
crew cut. A red welt stood out vividly against his forehead, calling to
attention the fact that Theresa was as uncoordinated with scissors as
she was
with other things.
"At least you don't look like a porcupine any more," she said
helpfully.
He brought his brown eyes up to meet hers, "And you think looking like
a
pinhead is any better?"
Theresa tentatively patted his hideously chopped hair, "Well like I
said,
it'll grow back. Eventually."
"Eventually," he repeated, still gaping in shock at his reflection.
"It could be worse," she offered, "you could be completely bald."
"I think that might be preferable to this."
Theresa sighed, "I suppose I could shave it-"
"NO!" Luis shouted desperately, "Just leave it alone! You've done
enough
damage!"
Theresa backed up, a bemused and slightly nervous look on her
face. She
snatched the smock from around Luis's neck and shook it out, sending
clumps
of black hair flying. Then, tossing him a panicked grin, she bolted
from the
room.
"MAMA!" she screamed as she flew into the living room, "I'm going over
Whitney's house!" And with that she was out the door, leaving a stunned
Luis
all by himself.
"Oh. My. God." he said once more, shaking his head in defeat.
At that moment, Miguel walked in, whistling happily. The cheery tune
stopped
the minute he spotted his older brother. "Luis! What happened to you?!"
Luis leveled a glare at his younger, love-struck sibling, "Your sister
got a
little scissor- happy."
Miguel attempted to choke back his laughter, "Well you look really
good.
Honest. Sheridan will swoon when she sees you."
Then, still chuckling, he left the room.
Luis sighed, "Yeah, she'll swoon all right," he muttered to himself,
"She'll
swoon with horror!"
<<<~~~>>>
Crane Cottage
6:15 pm
Sheridan stood in front of the mirror, attired in her dress and
carefully selected shoes, putting the finishing touches on her makeup.
As she
finished applying mascara to her eyes, a knock sounded at the door.
"That can't be him already," she muttered, heading over to open the
door.
Ethan stood in the doorway, a sheepish grin on his face. The shoeprint
was an
ugly purple that looked comical on his otherwise handsome face.
"Just wanted to see my favorite aunt off on her date," he said with a
smile.
She noticed his eyes were still a bit glazed over.
"How's your head feeling?" she asked him, reaching out to gingerly poke
the
bruise. Ethan winced, "Not so good. But I'll live."
"Good to know."
He stood back to appraise her outfit, "I see my suffering was not in
vain.
You were able to find the perfect pair of shoes to go with your dress."
"Does it look all right?"
"It looks wonderful," Ethan assured her.
Sheridan fluffed her hair one last time before reaching for her
purse,
just as Luis pulled up in front of her cottage.
"Well," Ethan said, glancing at his watch, "Six fifty-two. At least
he's
prompt."
Sheridan swatted her nephew, "Will you just go make a collage of
pictures of
Theresa or something?"
Ethan frowned, "Why would I make a collage of pictures of Theresa? I
don't
think I have enough pictures of Theresa to make a collage"
She shook her head, "Never mind Ethan. Just go back up to the mansion.
And
don't let Julian find out about Luis and I!"
"I won't!" Ethan rubbed his head, "I'll just tell him that Gwen hit me
with a
shoe. He'll probably believe that."
Shaking her head, Sheridan shoved Ethan out the door, following
him to
find Luis just stepping out of his police cruiser. Her breath caught in
her
throat as she finally got a good view of him. No matter how much she
attempted to hide her feelings for him, from others as well as herself,
she
had to admit that he always looked good. Except it wasn't his good
looks that
caused her eyes to bug out of her head this time. It was
"YOUR HAIR!"
Luis flinched, touching the top of his head self-consciously, "Yeah,"
he
mumbled, "Sorry about that"
"No, I mean, you don't have to apologize it's just WHAT HAPPENED?!"
Luis shrugged sheepishly, "Theresa was a bit overzealous in her
attempts to
make me look less like I believe she said I looked like a porcupine."
Sheridan had to laugh in spite of her date's predicament, "Luis, you
never
looked like a porcupine."
"I didn't?"
"No."
Luis sighed, running his hand through his hair (or lack thereof), and
then
gestured to the car. "Your chariot awaits."
Smiling at him, Sheridan made her way over to the police cruiser. Luis
headed
back over to his side and climbed in, shutting the door. Just as she
was
reaching for the door handle, the unexpected happened.
The sprinklers that irrigated the Crane property suddenly turned
on.
<<<~~~>>>
Lobster Shack
"We must look like the most dysfunctional couple here," Luis
chuckled as
they relaxed in their chairs.
"Between your hair, and" Sheridan sighed, not knowing what was
worse, the
fact that her dress was completely soaked and ruined, or that her hair
was
drenched and matted to her head. Perhaps it was the fact that her satin
shoes
were also destroyed by the water, or maybe even the mascara that ran
down her
cheeks.
"We're quite a sight, that's for sure," Luis finished, leaning across
the
table to wipe at her cheek with a napkin. Sheridan sat very still as he
cleaned the offending makeup off, then sat back.
"All better," he said with a laugh.
"Thanks," she replied, touching her cheek self-consciously.
Luis gazed across the table at her, opening his mouth to say something.
To
Sheridan, it looked to be something rather important. But, as is always
the
case with them, the waitress arrived at the table to take their order,
and
the fleeting moment was lost.
"Lobster," they both said in unison, and then grinned at each other.
When the waitress was gone, Sheridan carefully folded her napkin in
her
lap.
"You know Luis," she said, "I think this is the most I've smiled in
your
presence for a long time."
"Um" he paused, "Thanks. I think."
She smiled at him for effect.
"Are you sure you're not just laughing at my hair?"
Sheridan sighed, "At least we know Theresa can rule out hairdresser as
a
possible future career."
"I pity the next poor victim she confronts with a pair of scissors."
She leaned over and touched the angry red mark on Luis's forehead,
"What
happened?"
"Theresa gets clumsy."
"This is not a good day for head injuries," she sighed, "I hit Ethan in
the
head with a shoe while I was getting ready."
"Is that why he was stumbling around in the bushes when I pulled up? I
though
he was drunk."
Shaking her head with a grim smile Sheridan informed him, "No, I'm
afraid
that was all my doing. He'll come to eventually, I'm sure."
<<<~~~>>>
Crane Mansion
The door swung open and Ivy Crane stomped in, little red hearts
stuck to
her with tape. Peeling them from her clothes angrily, she tossed them
on the
floor and stomped on them, kicking the flimsy paper across the living
room.
"STUPID GRACE BENNETT!" she yowled, her shrill voice echoing off the
richly
decorated walls. Realizing for the first time that the house was silent
except for her tantrum, Ivy headed up the stairs to investigate.
Her first stop was Julian's study. She knocked softly on the door,
poking her head in.
"Julian? Where are you?"
Oddly enough, his chair was empty. A half-filled glass of brandy sat on
the
polished mahogany, leaving a ring.
Shaking her head in disgust, Ivy made her way over to her son's room.
"Ethan?" she called, "Ethan, you in there?"
She pushed open the door to reveal her precious son, sitting on the
floor,
scissors in hand, hunched over a piece of construction paper. Little
bits of
photos were strewn everywhere across the floor.
"Ethan! What are you doing?!" Ivy exclaimed, looking down at the mess
in
disbelief.
Ethan turned around, an ugly, purple shoe imprint marring his forehead.
He
waved the scissors around, eyes glassy, "I'm making a collage!"
"A collage? A collage of what?"
"Aunt Sheridan told me that I should make a collage of pictures of
Theresa.
So I am."
"Ethan, are you feeling all right?"
Ethan rubbed absently at his head, "I'm fine mother. I'm just making a
Theresa collage."
"Why?"
"Because," he said impatiently, "Aunt Sheridan told me to!"
"Ethan, what happened to your head?"
"I got hit with a shoe."
Ivy sighed, "whose shoe?"
Ethan giggled, "Somebody's shoe! The shoe flew! The shoe flew true! The
shoe
flew true now I'm black and blue!"
Shaking her head, Ivy decided that it would be for the best if she let
her
son recover on his own. She carefully closed the door to his room and
locked
it, praying that the injury wasn't too serious.
At least Julian isn't here, she silently offered up thanks.
