This...IDEK. Yeah. Erm...yeah.
"Erm, excuse me, Dr Foster?" Heidi asks, pushing the door open with one hand, a yellow legal pad held against her chest with the other. She can feel her cheeks burning already and she hasn't even said anything yet. "I have a call for you...?"
"Who is it?" Foster asks, looking up from the stack of paperwork, neon pink highlighter in hand.
"Martin Danforth?" she breathes, her eyes flitting around the room, looking pretty much anywhere but at Dr. Foster, or Dr. Lightman who was apparently sleeping in the chair opposite her.
"I don't know who that is," Gillian looks over to Cal and scowls at the shrug of his shoulders, his eyes still closed and arms still crossed over his stomach.
"He's, er," Heidi starts, her nails picking at the corners of the pad. "He's from 'Playboy'."
Cal's eyes snap open immediately as Gillian looks over to her, eyebrows well and truly up into her hairline. "Excuse me?"
Her cheeks were really burning now. "He's from 'Playboy'. They're doing a shoot –an issue- on Washington DC. 'Hotties on the Hill'."
"She'll do it."
"Shut up, Cal. And...they want me?"
"They want you. He said the company's been getting a lot airtime recently-"
"-And America knows who you are and, er, quote-unquote like what they see."
"She'll do it."
"Should I put him through?"
"Take a number."
"Don't take a number, Heidi," she says as she watches Cal jump from his seat.
"Take Marti's number, Heidi. Now run along," he ushers her out of the room. "There's a good girl." He turns back to Gillian and grins at the straightened back and faintest of blush on her cheeks. "You've got to do it."
"Oh, I really don't."
"Come on! Imagine it-"
"Don't need to, I think you're doing that enough for the both of us."
"Besides the point. America thinks you're hot, Gillian. America."
"No." She caps the highlighter and drops it in the drawer, collecting candy wrappers and an empty soda can, anything to busy her hands and get her out of that office.
"Why not?" He follows her out of the door, practically stepping on her heels. "Seriously, why not?"
"Why-? Because it's demeaning, it's objectifying, it's distasteful and it's tacky. I will not become Paris Hilton."
"Paris never did Playboy," he notes with a thankful look.
She spins to look at him, "And you know this how?"
"Emily...watches E!...Kim Kardashian! She did Playboy! Did she ever..."
"Right, sorry." He falls back into step with her, "Love, you gotta do it."
"I would be laughed out of the district! No one would take me seriously, I wouldn't be able to look anyone in the eye again! My career would be over, and I can't believe I'm actually having this conversation..."
"You could have a whole new career..."
"Cal." She turns the corner, and thrusts a finger in the air as a new, kinda vital, point comes to mind. "I know the President of the United States of America!"
"Jackie O was married to a President and did Hustler."
"She was on vacation and they printed paparazzi shots of her in a bikini!"
"What's going on?" Torres asks as Loker closes the front door behind them, both joining the cavalcade.
"Foster's doing Playboy."
"No, I'm not!"
"What, they asked you?"
"Thank you for the surprise in your voice there, Ria," she calls over her shoulder, the blush deepening on her cheeks.
"Sorry, it's just I've never known a Bunny before..." she smirks at Cal's grin.
"Never gonna happen!" She turns into the kitchen and sighs, dumping the trash into the can and leaning against the counter.
"Why not? Gillian, you're 43 years old." He says as she leans away from him, defiance but amusement glinting in her eyes. "'Playboy' sells some 3 million magazines a month and they think you, a divorced psychiatrist from Duke University will appeal to 15 year old boys across the country. Embrace it. Live it. You're hot!"
"And imagine your ex-husband's face when he hears you're doing 'Playboy'..." Torres adds as she slips back into the hallway, smirking at Loker still stood in the middle of corridor with a goofy grin plastered on his face. Apparently he didn't make it further than Cal's announcement.
Cal's grinning as Gillian seems to be having fun with the thought of Alec's face... "So you'll do it?"
She laughs, "Cal. Cal, Cal, dear sweet Cal..." she lays a palm flat against his chest and pushes him away, her lips pursed as he connects with a table. "I don't need America to tell me I'm hot." She adds a sway to her hips as she leaves, "I know."