TITLE: Conflicts of Interest (1/1)

AUTHOR: Becca Ramsey (rcramsey@mindspring.com)

RATING: PG-13 (adult themes)

ARCHIVAL: Shipper Haven, my own site (eventually)

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Paul Drake, Della Street, and Perry Mason belong wholly to the estate of Erle Stanley Gardner, et al. The characters of Max and Laura Parrish belong to NBC, etc. Their use is strictly for entertainment purposes. No profit is to be made from the publication of this story.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one has been rattling around in my head for quite some time -- since the premier of TCOT Heartbroken Bride. I stumbled across it this week and finally finished it. To the folks on the DS list: Consider the challenge met!

Dedicated to Anna and Debra. Thank you, ladies, for your hard work on "Friends and Lovers," and for your hard work at MW.

Special thanks to Debra, beta reader extraordinaire. Any mistakes you see now are mine alone.

Also, for anyone following my series, this story falls between "Undeclared" and "Undeniable, Part One."

Apologies for any formatting errors. This was sent using webmail as my current mail is having...difficulties.

SUMMARY: Meddling in the affairs of Max and Laura Parrish, Mason reflects on his own relationship with Della. (Perry/Della; Perry/Laura)

****

Perry Mason sat up slowly and looked at the sleeping form beside him. A light smile tugged at his lips. Deep auburn locks splayed across the pillow, a single curl sweeping across eyes moving rapidly in sleep. Her curvaceous figure was strategically concealed in the knotted and wrinkled sheet; her long, shapely legs stretched to the foot of the bed, exposed to the cool apartment air.

With a sigh, he was suddenly glad he wasn't a divorce attorney; his eyes swept once more over the familiar face.

Laura Parrish.

His heart heavy, he eased himself off the bed. He grabbed his robe from the chair beside the bedroom door and slipped quietly into the living room, closing the door behind him.

Crossing the room, he switched on the floor lamp beside the sofa. Light surged into the room and washed his belongings in a clean, yellow hue, chasing out the haunting blues of early morning.

That done, he flopped into his favorite corner of the sofa. He landed somewhat haphazardly, one leg stretched out before him, the other perpendicular to the floor, his foot resting flat against the rug. He let one arm drop to the armrest, and raised the other, obscuring his eyes.

"What the hell have I done?" he muttered.

Laura and Max Parrish, a young married couple struggling their way through the rigors of university life, were quite possibly the closest friends Mason claimed outside of Paul Drake and Della Street.

Max's final semester was quickly approaching its end, and he was pouring his heart and soul into passing his exams; he stayed out far into the night, locked in the university library for hours on end. Laura, studying for her own exams, rushed through her own study groups to hurry home to prepare dinner and keep their tiny apartment as she felt a good wife should.

Perry pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed at the beginnings of a tension headache. Small wonder, he thought, that living more like roommates than husband and wife was fraying their marriage at the seams and they had no idea how to mend it.

Good friend that he was, he’d invited them out to dinner. While he knew he could not provide relationship counsel, he felt that, perhaps, he could provide them with a common ground -- and a public place -- on which to start.

That was my first mistake, Perry thought.

For, about thirty minutes prior to their dinner, Max had canceled, saying that he simply had to finish his notes for Professor James' class. He'd insisted that Perry and Laura go without him.

Behind his closed eyelids, the previous evening replayed.

Laura, beautiful and vibrant, stunning even, with intelligence to match, had spent the first bottle of wine singing the praises of Max Parrish.

His grin had a bitter edge as he recalled her recitation.

"...He massages my shoulders, Perry while I review notes from my calculus class and last week, for no reason at all, carnations appeared in my study carrel...and when he’s home sometimes he even cooks dinner..."

"Sounds like a man still deeply in love with his wife," Perry said.

Laura smiled shyly in agreement, her eyes dropping to the leafy salad before her. That smile had carried them through dinner. He shook his head. They shouldn’t have stayed for the second bottle of wine.

Laura had explained, as they were halfway through the second bottle, that the only problem was Max hadn't been home for dinner in weeks. "...I know he’d never cheat on me, Perry, but I still get so jealous..." She blushed slightly, embarrassed to even mention the possibility of an affair.

"He’s working very hard, Laura," Perry said. His voice was not without a trace of sympathy. "I remember what it was like when I was in law school: Exam time arrived, and I developed real tunnel vision."

He could still hear her plaintive question in her voice as she responded to his lame attempt to excuse Max’s absences.

"Yes, I know...his studies are important," she admitted. "But isn’t his wife important, too?"

He recalled that he’d muttered some inane response about how both Laura and Max had a promising future separately but together -- together was where their strength lay. That, much as Mason himself relied on Della, Laura’s breezy and lighthearted manner made a good balance for Max’s sometimes pessimistic outlook on life.

The comparison to his own life prodded his thoughts in the direction of Della Street. He recalled late nights in the office, shoulder massages, sandwiches, weeding out of mail... She had a gentle, caressing way about her which made him feel confident and secure.

By the time the third bottle of wine arrived, a pang of guilt began to tug at him. After all, when was the last time he told Della how much he appreciated her?

The rest of the evening had passed in something of a blur -- yet another reason why I don't like to drink too much, he thought. Mason always prided himself on having clear, logical thought, on being ready to act on a moment's notice. But the previous night, he had lacked all those qualities that he held so dear.

He wasn't sure quite how it happened -- again, that blur--but he had the distinct impression that it had been his fault. He remembered the two of them, seated on the sofa, one moment, relaxed; the next thing he could remember was the warm feel of his body against hers as they made love.

All the while, he was sure Laura was thinking of Max.

And all the while, he was thinking of only Della.

***

At the first ring of the telephone, Della Street, conditioned after years of late nights, bolted upright and swung her feet to the floor in one smooth movement. She rushed down the corridor; the second ring brought the receiver to her ear, hopefully before waking her hosts. She only wished she could sound as alert as she felt.

"Hello?"

"Della?"

Her brows furrowed as her eyes glanced at the grandfather clock. "Perry?" she questioned. Her tone took on a concerned note. "It’s after three here. Are you all right? Is there any trouble? I can call -- "

She heard his soft chuckle on the opposite end of the line. "I’m fine, Della. Just having a... sleepless night."

"Aren’t things going well?"

"The lectures are going very well," Mason replied.

"But other things aren’t?" Della asked. The long moment of silence she heard answered her question. "What’s happened?"

"Oh, some friends are having difficulties. They married young. And they’re still in school -- "

"Getting jealous of each other’s time?"

"Something like that."

"And you called me."

Della could almost envision his mischievous grin. "Let’s just say I don’t want you to feel unappreciated."

Her voice deepened slightly, husky with emotion. Idly, she twisted her finger in the coil of the phone cord. "I’ve never felt that way with you, Perry. Quite the contrary, actually."

Mason cleared his throat. "Then... you’re doing all right?" he asked.

"I’m fine, Perry." She paused. "Go on, Chief. Get some sleep."

"Thanks, Della. Good night."

"Good night, Perry." Placing the receiver back onto the hook, Della stood in the darkened hall, staring at the phone. She pursed her lips. Then, after a long moment, she turned and slipped quietly back into her bedroom.

Mason sat for a long moment, the receiver resting lightly in his hand. Guilt had driven him to call Della, to tell her what had happened. But when the moment arrived, it had been impossible. He simply could not tell her what he knew would break her heart.

***

"Good morning."

Placing the receiver back onto the cradle, he looked up. Laura stood in the doorway of the bedroom. She had foraged for a robe apparently, coming up with one of his cotton ones that he reserved for summer wear.

He tried to smile. "Good morning."

Laura eased her way into the room. She drew the robe tighter around her, hugging her arms to herself, almost withdrawing. Mason could tell she felt she was intruding.

"Would you like some breakfast?" he asked.

"No, thank you," Laura answered. She gingerly seated herself on the edge of the sofa. She nodded, indicating the telephone. "A little early for a phone call."

"A little." Mason grimaced. "I...had to call Della. I needed to see how she was doing."

"At three in the morning?" she asked. There was an edge to Laura’s voice that he couldn’t miss. She leveled her gaze on him, eyes steady and unwavering.

"At three in the morning," he echoed. He paused. "Look, Laura -- "

Laura interrupted. "Perry, it’s all right." She swallowed hard, then looked up at him, her eyes welling with unshed tears. "I -- I should know better than to drink so much." She laughed nervously. "Max always helps me keep track of how many I’ve had."

"Then maybe it’s time you went back to him."

Her eyes went wide. "Perry! How can I? How can I go back to Max after...after this?"

"Because you love him, Laura. It wasn’t me you wanted last night -- you know it and I know it."

There was an odd smile on Laura’s lips. "And you called out her name."

A long moment of silence fell over the two of them. Mason stared at the carpet, his mind blank for the first time in what seemed an eternity. He felt her hand drop over his.

"Friends?" she asked quietly.

Mason clapped his hand over top of hers. He smiled warmly.

"Friends," he replied.