The Gershwin brothers (George/music, Ira/lyrics) wrote the song used here. It's an obscure tune that I discovered on Maureen McGovern's CD of the same name. If you can hear her rendition and not picture Beverly singing it, then your lack of imagination could probably get you a job at Paramount.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns everything Star Trek. So?
By E. Wallace
Will Riker flipped the isolinear chip up in the air and caught it several times as he walked down the corridor. The information stored on it was... well, to use Data's favorite term, intriguing. But what was he going to do with it?
It was the solid evidence everybody had wanted for years, and yet he could never show it to any of the others. Still, there had to be a way to let them know.
He shook his head. The evening had started so... normally. He'd never imagined it would end up like this.
The poker game broke up early, as it always did when Beverly and Deanna didn't play. When it was just Will, Data, Geordi and Worf, they talked less and somehow seemed to lose interest in the game. The women always managed to keep the conversation going and still make the game interesting.
Will finished cleaning up then moved to his terminal to check the ship's status and look for messages.
'Hmm,' he thought, 'somebody's been on the holodeck.' He several programs he shared with other people and each was configured so that whenever the program was used without all of the usual participants a message was sent to the absent one as notification of any possible modifications.
It was the nightclub program. That was odd. The setting had been his idea, but it was Beverly who had provided just the right atmospheric touches. What was Beverly doing on the holodeck? Hadn't she said there was a research project she couldn't leave tonight? If that wasn't the case, then why did she go to the holodeck instead of joining the poker game? And why use that program?
Will smiled as he remembered discovering Beverly's hidden talent for singing. She'd been working in the lab late one night, and he had been unable to sleep. Not holding out much hope, he had checked the computer to see if any of the senior staff was still awake. Data's name on the list didn't surprise him, but the doctor's did. He never really understood much about her research but then again, it might just be the thing to put him to sleep.
Her back was to the door so she didn't notice his arrival.
He watched, fascinated. She was obviously reading from a padd held in one hand while the other rested on the table in front of her. Her feet shuffled slightly and her hips swayed in time to the bluesy jazz tune she was singing.
"How do you sing and read at the same time?" Will asked casually.
Beverly let out a startled yelp, the padd clattering to the floor as she whirled around. "Damn it, Will! What do you think you're doing, sneaking around in the middle of the night, scaring the hell out of people?"
"I couldn't sleep and was looking for company. How was I to know I was going to uncover one of the best kept secrets in Starfleet? Two of them actually. I never knew you could sing, and I still want to know how you can sing one thing and read something completely different at the same time."
"Will," she purred, patting his shoulder, "the Academy could teach an entire course on what you don't know about me."
He laughed but didn't give up. "I've seen you act in plenty of plays, of course, but with a voice like that, why haven't you ever put on a musical?"
"I don't sing in public," was all she would say on the subject.
It took him two weeks of persistent badgering to convince her to at least join him on the holodeck. He was impressed by her knowledge of music and amazed by the range of her tastes.
All of which made him curious enough about her recent activities to head for the holodeck.
He keyed up the program and chose the last recorded session.
"Program set, enter when ready," the computer said.
Stepping through the arch, he glanced around. The basic setting appeared to be unchanged. Dark and smoky, it was a classic early 20th century depiction of a 'speakeasy'. Looking down the length of the room, the stage was to his right and the bar ran along the back wall to his left with a haphazard arrangement of tables and chairs filling the space in between. Although he was fond of the music of the time period, Beverly had been able to regale him with tales of Depression era gangsters, bootleggers and flappers. When he remarked on her rather unusual knowledge, she had simply shrugged, making him wish the Academy would offer a course on understanding Beverly Crusher.
But something was different. It took him a moment to realize that, except for the band on the stage, the place was empty. No patrons, not even a bartender. He and Beverly usually preferred to play to a full house, but she apparently had something else in mind this time.
Taking up a position behind the bar - the most likely place to be out of the way - he called out, "Run program."
The band began to play, and Riker poured himself a drink, waiting for Beverly to make her appearance. What he didn't expect was for the action to begin elsewhere. The nightclub door opened to admit a new player, a man in period formal dress. Riker's jaw dropped. It was Captain Picard! Or at least it was supposed to be him. 'What is Beverly up to?' Riker wondered.
'Picard' moved to the bar and leaned back against it. "Whisky and soda," he ordered. Riker started to respond automatically until he saw a glass appear on the bar. He had to remind himself he was only an observer this time, not a participant.
The band began a new number, and Riker recognized the song's opening bars. He looked toward the stage just as the spotlight caught Beverly's entrance.
And suddenly realized his mouth was hanging open again.
She was not wearing one of her usual costumes.
The black dress, though not precisely of the period, was a rich contrast to her creamy skin. And there was a lot of skin showing. Narrow straps held up a deeply plunging neckline, the back was almost completely non-existent and the hemline of the curve hugging skirt came not even to mid-thigh. Black and silver beading winked in the bright lights, and the same beading accented the black ribbons wound through her auburn hair.
Beverly sauntered up to the microphone, confident even in the tall spike heels that made her long, sculpted legs look even longer. Her tone was light and playful as she locked eyes with the lone member of her audience.
"Naughty baby, naughty baby, who will tease you.
I can show the way and know the way to please you.
If you're wanting a beginner, I won't do.
I could make a saint a sinner, when I want to."
Riker couldn't believe the tantalizing delivery she was giving the song - directly to the Captain. He chuckled at the idea of her ever having the nerve to give this little performance in front of the real Jean-Luc Picard.
Then he saw the tips of 'Picard's' ears begin to turn red.
No... it couldn't be. Could it? "Freeze program." The action stopped, and Will moved closer to get a better look. Damn! He still couldn't tell. "Computer, identify all non holo-generated participants in this recording."
"Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Dr. Beverly Crusher are not holo-generated."
Even though he knew it was impossible, Will had somehow expected the computer to show a little more enthusiasm at being able to announce that particular bit of information.
A slow grin spread across his face. The Captain and Beverly, together, here, like this. He raised his hand and was just about to tap his communicator when a thought struck him. Putting the idea to call Deanna on hold, he opted for a bit more investigation. Just because it started out this way didn't mean it would end with... whatever. It was far more likely that he was giving his imagination too much free reign. Returning to his original position he instructed the recording to continue.
"If you find the simple kind are rather slow, dear,
Then you ought to try a naughty one, you know, dear.
But, you'll never meet another who will be
A naughty baby, naughty baby
Just like me."
Beverly glided effortlessly around the stage, going from demure to seductive and back again as the song dictated.
"If you want a girl who's sentimental,
One who'll never set you in a whirl.
One who will be always sweet and gentle,
I am not that sort of girl."
"But if you prefer a rather swift one,
If you think you'd like to run around,
With the right one,
I am just the right one."
The shimmy used to emphasize the last line widened even Riker's eyes. She'd never rehearsed that move when he was around.
She flirted with and among the band members as each played their brief solos. Her movements were fluid, sensuous and... flexible. Riker swallowed hard and noticed Picard did the same as she stepped down from the stage, slinking her way toward the bar and the man standing there.
"If you find the simple kind are rather slow, dear,
Then you ought to try a naughty one, you know, dear."
She ran a teasing fingertip up and down Picard's white shirt front, draping her other arm around his neck and resting her weight against him as he leaned on the bar.
"But you'll never meet another
Who will be..."
Picard pushed away from the bar to stand upright, splaying his large hands across the small of her back, bringing her lower body tight against his. She responded by hitching one long leg over his hip, never missing a beat.
"A naughty baby, naughty baby
She brushed her nose against his.
The last word was barely out of her mouth when one of Picard's hands slid up her back to tangle in her hair, holding her still as his mouth covered hers in a hungry kiss.
His other hand massaged its way down over her hip to her bared thigh where it wrapped around him. When the hand began its upward return trip, the fingers slipped easily under the hem of the dress.
"Freeze program!" Will nearly shouted, quickly turning his back on the now motionless couple.
No doubt about it now. Any two people here, doing that were definitely going there!
"Computer, how much time remains on this recording?"
"47 minutes, 39 seconds."
"47 minutes? What in the world could they... no, don't even start thinking like that, Will Riker," he scolded himself. "Computer, end program." Surrounded once again by the black and yellow grid of the holodeck, he made a concerted effort to control his breathing and his embarrassment.
He knew with absolute certainty that there was no way Beverly ever intended for this session to be recorded, much less for him to be alerted to it.
As the humor of the situation began to sink in, Will moved swiftly to the control panel. He tapped out some commands then waited the few seconds necessary for the recording to be downloaded.
Now he just had to figure out what to do with it.
Will pondered his predicament for two days, giving rise to comments from several people as to the reason behind his mischievous smile. He never gave a straight answer to any inquiry, not even under Deanna's relentless pestering.
He finally got his opportunity when he entered Ten Forward and saw Beverly sitting alone. He knew she was waiting for the Captain, so he strolled over and sat down.
"We missed you at the poker game the other night," he offered casually and was rewarded with the slightest blush.
"Yes, well, I had other things to... do," the doctor replied, stammering just a bit.
"I know, the holodeck told me." Her blush became more evident. "By the way, you'll be glad to know I took the notification command out of all our shared programs. And we'll just have to force ourselves to remember to order a recording instead of having the computer do it automatically." She turned two more shades as he pulled the chip from his pocket, put it in her hand and wrapped her unresisting fingers around it. "I swear on my honor as a Starfleet officer that I didn't watch all of it, this is the only copy and I haven't said a word to Deanna. I know you'll want to tell her yourself." He stood as he saw the Captain approach. He nodded a greeting as he moved away, but was still close enough to see Beverly turn even pinker as the Captain asked if she was alright.
"I'm fine, Jean-Luc," she said a bit hoarsely, "let's just eat."
Beverly exacted her 'revenge' in the simplest way possible. She never said a word to Deanna.