Work Text:
Another day, another case. Only this one already ended. I'm free. Free to sit in the restaurant and to finish my steak in peace. Free to wait for another case.
Perry ran away already. Said he promised to take Della out. I can just imagine this. Another evening of same old dinner-and-dancing. All very gracious. Flowers. Champagne. Candles. All ending exactly the same way: with nothing. By now, I think, everybody knows this will end in nothing. The receptionists in our office building. The guys in DA's office. The cops on patrol. Della Street, certainly. Everybody but Perry. Or does he?
Sometimes I'm sure he does know. Then why does he still do it? Does he need the safety and familiarity this much? He knows he likes Della, he knows she likes him. He knows that she won't let him go any further and he knows he won't press it. And the dance goes on to the next round.
But then, sometimes I think we are all puppets doing a complex dance. Who knows what - or who - guides us? Not me, certainly. I'm just the guy who collects the facts. I let other people to explain them. People like Perry Mason. Me, I don't even know why people around me do what they do.
Why does Perry need the fight so much? Sometimes I think that he'll invent himself a fight if there won't be any around. More than once he certainly pulled a case for himself out of nothing. That's the way he is; I can't really imagine him anything but a fighter - a lawyer in a court, a boxer on a ring, whatever. But even the fighters feel the need to stop. To rest. But not Perry; he simply runs on. Why? What will happen if he stops?
And what does he want from me? Does he want anything besides the convenient help of a P.I.? Does he even notice me as a person? Does he know why I keep helping him?
But then, do I even know myself? He calls, and I keep coming to his call. No matter what I do. No matter what are the risks. I won't even count how many times I could lose my license. And still, I keep coming back. What do I want from him? I don't know.
No, not true - I do, of course. I want him to stop running and to notice me. I want to talk to him, just talk, and not about the next case. We started out as friends, and now I'm not sure what we are - colleagues? Business associates? I want us to be friends again. And then... who knows what could be then?
But there's no use in absurd dreams. I'm a practical man, I know this. He didn't stop running before, and probably never will. Certainly not for me. And I'll keep running at his side. I know why - what's the use of kidding myself? I want to be near him any way I can. I want to see him. To talk to him. And Della is right; the only way to stay in his world is to work with him. So I sit here and wait for the next case. And eat my steak. I'm not sure I want to finish it, though. I'm not used to eating the whole of it.